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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071768">I Am Shadow Stalker!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon'>AwesomeJon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Frenemies, Gen, Mind Meld</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:47:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>We're about a week from the one year anniversary of the publication of You Are Shadow Stalker, and I felt it would be interesting to revisit that idea. There's a lot that could be done differently with it, from structural choices in the prose to the way the central concept is handled by the various organizations in the Wormverse, to the complete mess that became of the plot after it stopped being a one-shot. As with any idea I tend to write, this is a melange of different ideas I have been working on for varying lengths of time, most of which are artistic fixations of mine or repeated motifs, themes, etc. Hopefully all that time to stew and distill results in a richer, better story. Without further ado and for your consideration:</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver &amp; Sophia Hess | Shadow Stalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Master</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447738">You Are Shadow Stalker</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon">AwesomeJon</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>February 11, 2011</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Brockton Bay</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma and I stood in the hall, waiting for the next class. Winter break had been…a mess, frankly, and I was glad to be back. If it wasn't nonsense at home it was actual fucking persecution at my "after school job", and I was in need of some stress relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly, Emma was beginning to bore the hell out of me. She seemed to be turning her attention to Madison, in lieu of a more interesting target…and it was becoming clear to me that whatever I was, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a sadist. Oh, don't get me wrong — I fucking love hurting people. But they have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, and Madison, like…what did she do to anyone? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I leaned against a locker, holding it shut with my elbow. It had been abandoned, apparently — nobody had used it for a while, there was no lock, and several tattered hardback schoolbooks sat inside it. We'd come up with the idea of using it for a prank before winter break, Emma and I, but I wasn't sure who to use it on. There was this feeling at the back of my brain that I'd had a perfect target in mind, once, but it wasn't coming to me as readily as it felt like it should have. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So anyway," Emma said. "I was thinking, after class, right? I don't have any modeling this week, so did you want to hang out?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shook my head. "I got work." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed. "Always with the stupid after school gig. Would you go if they didn't make you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I thought about that. "Honestly, I'm not sure." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I bet I could talk to my dad, he could figure something out for you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A niggling itch in the back of my brain told me this was a very bad idea. "Please don't."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma grinned. "He works with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brandish. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She could help you, I'm sure of it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Having actually met Brandish, I was very sure she would not. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don't."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma giggled. "I think it would be good for you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My head spun. "This is crazy. But you're set on it, aren't you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded solemnly. "I need to help you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The itch in the back of my brain spoke. It hadn't done that before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is how it feels. You're her prey, now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I pegged the speaker as white, educated, about my age. The general itch in my brain had been worsening for about a year now, but voices were new on me. And why would the voice sound so…unlike me? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because of what you did to me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shook my head, trying to clear it. </span>
  <b>Who are you? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose that doesn't matter anymore, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the voice said diffidently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I never existed, after all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I reached for my work phone in my pocket, thinking the prudent thing to do at this juncture was call in an M/s alert. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nonsense, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the voice said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You're just hearing voices. They'll take you off the team if they can diagnose you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nope, nope, that was it. I was being mastered. "Emma, I have to go. Need to make a phone call." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at me, concern in her eyes and something that always felt too much like care. "Everything all right?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I had to think for too many long moments. "I'm not sure." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What was it the man said? I'm not locked in here with you…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I set my teeth. </span>
  <b>You're locked in here with me.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The voice sounded disappointed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I knew you'd say that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a secluded, empty classroom, I pulled out my phone. I dialed a three digit code and began to pour gasoline around my future. The first ring was very short, the answer almost immediate. "Console." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Console, this is Sierra Sierra. Am at civilian daysite. I need an M/s screening. Stat." I lit the match. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Console paused briefly. "Sierra Two, that's an M/s screen, do we copy? " </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You copy. I'm hearing a single voice, female, fourteen. And it means me harm." I paused. "It just laughed at me." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Console sighed. "Psych issues need to be routed through your handler, Sierra Two. This isn't funny."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snarled. "Now listen here, you bastard. I can hang up and call Armsmaster or you can get me a van and an M/s screen. This isn't fucking funny and I am not kidding." The flames rose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There were muffled voices as he spoke to someone else in the room. "They're on their way. Meet us behind the site. Your excuse is already written." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They don't care about you at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Thanks, I'm beginning to realize that. I didn't realize it was this bad, before. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn't realize you were "crazy" before. They did. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nodded, mentally. </span>
  <b>Mandatory therapy is a thing for probation Wards, but they were especially tough on me about it…wait, why am I telling you this? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you realize I'm not trying to master you? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That did not sound like a denial of actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>being </span>
  </em>
  <span>a master cape to me. </span>
  <b>Try not to, how about. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't help what's happening to us. Honestly, I'm grateful for the experience. I never knew it was so bad in here. Empathy is a strange beast, you know? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I cocked my head as I navigated the halls. </span>
  <b>How can we have met before if you never existed? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I'll tell you when I think you'll believe me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Right. So you got a name? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>That's a boy's name. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's my name. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I couldn't argue with that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did you mean, you never knew it was so bad in here? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Everything you've been dealing with. </b>
  <span>I had a sudden flash, not a memory but not a hallucination either. A black haired girl waving her hand at a metal space, which smelled of rot and decay with a touch of piss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Is that what you look like?</b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A nod. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>And is that what it looks like inside my head? </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ever since I ended up here, at least. I'm trying to change it back to something a little homier, but it doesn't want to go. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I am floridly psychotic right now. </b>
  <span>I stepped into the van, ignoring the weird look the trooper gave me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You said that out loud. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taylor giggled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Oh fuck.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ride passed mostly in silence, me locked in a soundproof compartment and everyone else doing…whatever they did. I didn't really know. Were the same troopers sent on M/s pickups? Was there actually a protocol for a civilian identity calling in an M/s in a public place? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, how many people had I just gotten a snow day? But, like, the bad kind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You haven't tried to make me do anything</em>
  </b>
  <span>, I noted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well I don't want to. Not like </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>that</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>There you go trying not to be a master cape again. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well I don't think I triggered? I just…don't exist anymore, except for here. So I can't be a master cape. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something occurred to me. </span>
  <b>You said I did something to you. You said you don't know if you triggered, but you're being kinda evasive about the subject. Makes me think you're hiding something. I made you trigger, didn't I?</b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor smiled at me, somehow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You catch on fast. I didn't think you were capable of caring about stuff like that, before, let alone noticing it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Well I'm not. </b>
  <span>I folded my arms defiantly. </span>
  <b>It's just kind of my problem right now. They're gonna ask me all kinds of stuff. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose it would be in my best interest to help you get out of there as quickly as possible…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Yes, and it would prove you're a master. To them as well as me. I don't want to end up in an asylum or something, so you can't do that even if you aren't one. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why was I entertaining this? Why? No good could come from this Taylor person in my head. </span>
  <b>Hey, wait. Did you convince Emma to sic Brandish on me? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ummmmmm…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>So you just admitted you're a master. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. I am sort of on your side? You'll see, I promise. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rubbed the bridge of my nose. </span>
  <b>Taylor, what the fuck. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The van stopped. The back door slid open, revealing a well lit white painted tunnel that led directly to M/s containment. I started walking. </span>
  <b>I need to give them a full report. How can I do that when I don't even know who you are, really? Were.</b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't know. It'll be interesting, won't it?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snorted. </span>
  <b>Thanks for nothing. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You're welcome. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh great. She had a sense of humor, too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door to my cell hissed shut behind me, and I was alone with my thoughts. Waiting for a specialist, probably. I tried to resist the urge to feel that Taylor and I were alone with each other, but it slowly grew into an idea of its own, and then I accepted it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>See, not so bad. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You're inside my head and I can't get you out. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Living rent free! Sorry. I keep forgetting you don't really know the whole story. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I kinda need to? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I'd love to say I'm not enjoying this. But no. When I can figure out you're not an enemy, I'll maybe fill you in. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I was beginning to be very scared. I didn't think M/s protocols were written to allow for this kind of subtle influence. I didn't even know if I was being mastered. This didn't seem like that, really. But Emma had been? Had I second triggered with a master power and an alternate personality? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor hummed. It took me a second to realize she was humming "Happy Together" by the Turtles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With my lips. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No we aren't," I snarled aloud. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she said. I stopped humming. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You still think this is funny. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grinned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door slid open, and Miss Militia stood in front of me, her bandana covering her face. "Shadow Stalker, report."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not sure what to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>report. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But it's not great." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. "Stick to the facts, please. Just tell us what you know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sucked in a breath and started trying to do that. "There's a girl in my head. A voice. About my age. Educated diction, probably white. Her name is Taylor, she says. She's made no overt suggestions to influence my behavior, but claims to have influenced a civilian associate. She claims to have never existed but also that I did something to her, and has implied that her retroactive non-existence is a result of a trigger event. She does not admit to being a master cape. Mental images indicate black hair and a metal environment that…stinks."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden realization came to me, and my eyes widened. "A locker." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hm." Militia took a second to digest this. "And have you behaved in any uncharacteristic ways since this began?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, I called in an M/s screen on myself, didn't I?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed lightly. "Very true. And where were you when you first noticed this?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was beginning to dawn on me in utter horror. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>prompted Taylor. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it made too much sense. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My voice cracked. "Standing outside an unused locker, in the hall, at Winslow." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia nodded. "That seems to have affected you somewhat. Can you identify why?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Emma Barnes and I had a great idea for a prank. We were going to…well, simply and succinctly speaking, shove someone in a locker." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia nodded. "Who? Was there a target?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I think we had one. But I couldn't remember who."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia made notes on her smartphone. "Interesting. I'm sending a team to locate Emma." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"She was at school, last I saw. She was going to contact Brandish on my behalf? I don't fully understand why but I think the…Taylor effect has something to do with it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A lawyer." Militia </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurmphed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "You think your friend was mastered into pursuing legal counsel on your behalf right before you ended up in M/s screening?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't say that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, you didn't. It just seems like a reason someone would contact a lawyer." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't understand why she would do that." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed. "Sophia. Listen. Your friend contacted a lawyer, at the exact time that you called in a Master/Stranger alert on your position. The behavior you're engaging in is totally uncharacteristic for you, but it does not match up to normal M/s effects. While I am not ruling out something strange happening that we haven't been able to fully understand yet, it is my professional duty to rule out the possibility that you and a friend are attempting to cover up a crime, or otherwise blame misconduct on M/s effects."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We didn't shove anyone in a locker." Did we? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No one said you did that, again."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shouted, now. "I'm being railroaded, aren't I? I want a lawyer." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed. "Sophia, I wish you hadn't said that. Everything about this case leads me to believe you called in a false M/s alert. You are not suspected of a crime but you are relieved of duty indefinitely, while we figure out what else is going on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>I was tense, angry, pacing in my cell. Coming clean now seemed like a better play than…not. "We were going to shove someone in a locker, but I can't remember who. I was standing outside the locker, thinking about it, and I started hearing this voice. A voice that maybe experienced a trigger event, if you read between the lines of what it said. </span><em><span>I'm</span></em> <em><span>scared, Hannah. </span></em><span>Please. Voices are not normal."</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia nodded. "No, they're not. And I've never seen you admit to feeling fear before. You're right, something is going on."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Now look what you've done. She thinks I'm having a psychotic break. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't think that's entirely my fault. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I want my dad." Huh?! What?! What the fuck did I just say?! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia looked at me, extremely concerned. "You don't have a father, Sophia. Not a living biological one, in any event. Your trigger event was caused by your stepfather, who is now in custody. Your father died some years ago."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Then why did I say that?!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck. I think I'm bleeding over. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I saw red liquid spilling out from under the door of a thing I now recognized as the locker, and I heard faint and distant screams. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don't think I anticipated that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The voice says it thinks it's bleeding over. Visual hallucinations accompany. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am being mastered.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed. "I would feel much more comfortable with your analysis if I could rule out insanity." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That's what the protocols are </span>
  <em>
    <span>for, </span>
  </em>
  <span>damn it. I know I'm on probation but I'm a Ward, I've been trained, I'm not fucking with you. Please! Listen to me." I was hyperventilating now, a bit. This was so unlike me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A text alert pinged on her phone. "They've made contact with Emma. Emma is in class, but she left a message with Carol Dallon of Dallon and Barnes during the break you called in your alert on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And? She's being mastered, you need to get her out of there."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And she wanted help negotiating probation terms for a cape friend. You weren't outed in that message. But she plans to, we can assume." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sighed. "Yeah, we can." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I think you and Emma came up with a scheme and I think that this is part of it. I cannot, repeat, legally </span>
  <em>
    <span>can not </span>
  </em>
  <span>hold you in M/s confinement any longer than necessary without evidence of you being mastered. On account of your status as a minor and Ward who is part of the Wards under </span>
  <em>
    <span>legal duress</span>
  </em>
  <span>, among other things. Evidence I don't have, because every action you've taken due to the supposed M/s phenomenon has been </span>
  <em>
    <span>more rational and beneficial to you than usual</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which also rules out insanity, in any of the senses that would seem to be applicable here. Sophia, this situation is too perfect by half. What is going on?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My lip quivered and my voice broke. "I don't know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at me sadly. "Go lie down for a bit." The door opened, this time on the side she was on, in a hall of the Wards base itself. "I'll make some calls." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Taylor, this would be a lot easier if you told me anything at all. What am I missing? </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><span>A lot, </span></em><span>Taylor</span> <span>said sadly. </span><em><span>I'll get to it in time. I have to admit, I didn't know you were a Ward before. It makes things considerably more interesting. </span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>ARE THEY ACTING LIKE I'M A WARD?! </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gee, I hope not. Do they treat Vista that way? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snorted. </span>
  <b>Not where I can see it, that's for damn sure. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You have to admit though. They've got a point. Why would a master take only actions that were more rational and beneficial than your normal behavior? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To avoid being noticed and pursue an agenda. Don't patronize me. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I won't patronize you if you stop treating me like I'm your enemy, here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Are you? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have a plan. It's been taking shape ever since I ended up inside your head, like…I have to do something. It's not right to leave you in this condition. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The condition you put me in?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. I did put us in this ridiculous M/s protocol situation, I freely admit that. But you were an asshole long before you met me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Which was not today. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't get ahead of me, here. But yes. Good catch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I made you trigger. Your dad was important to you before you triggered. You triggered and you somehow printed yourself all over my brain and wrote yourself out of existence at the same time. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>An interesting theory.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Stop hiding things from me! I need to know! </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor snapped at me, and I felt anger that I was only now able to identify as not coming from myself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don't know any more than you do! I know I'm locked inside your fucking brain, I know it's a lot better than being locked inside something else, and I know if I tell </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>them </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>everything I know my dad will be in danger! I can't do that! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I seized on what she was not saying, again, as I tossed myself lengthwise onto my bed. </span>
  <b>Locked inside the locker. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She didn't respond. </span>
  <b>Taylor, fuck you. You have to trust me if I'm gonna help either of us. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Forgive me if I don't trust you because you </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>didn't </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>help me before. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>What did I do?!</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to talk about it, all right? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Must have been something, all right. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was unbelievably cruel. You wouldn't imagine it if I told you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Taylor, stop fucking around. Emma and I shoved you in the locker, didn't we? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>…yes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Damn. We shoved you in a locker so hard you stopped existing. That's kinda badass. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And then I took up residence in your brain, where I have what appears to be some kind of master power, and where no proof I exist…exists. Let alone that I'm mastering you, as blaming a person who doesn't exist for mastering you is the equivalent of blaming the Tooth Fairy or Jesus Christ. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>And worse than that is claiming I made this person trigger by committing a crime in my civilian identity and that's why they're mastering me, when they don't exist. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mhm. I wonder if you can recognize the locker as a crime because you have some of me in your mind, now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I'm pretty sure it's because I'm not stupid. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You're stupid enough that you're lucky I'm on your side. If I wanted to punish you for what you did to me I'd be almost undetectable. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Almost?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I suspect there's a hole my general size and shape where I was. How you'd find it or use it, I can't begin to guess. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Why do you have to be both so smug and make so little sense, why…</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I'm just like that. It's all right. We'll get out of this, Sophia Hess. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rolled over and tried to sleep. I wasn't so sure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Miss Militia went directly from the containment cell where Sophia Hess had been placed to Armsmaster's workshop. She rang the annunciator once, then opened the door without waiting. He stood in front of a bench, busily tinkering. He had not heard her approach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Colin."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turned around with a start. "Hannah! I didn't hear you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You never do." She smiled softly. "Colin. Are there any records of a new trigger…retroactively ceasing to exist? Whether by some phenomena or intentionally erasing itself from records and so forth?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He scratched his head. "Hannah, if something ceased to exist, why would we have records of it?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed. "I suppose that's a good question, isn't it? But I was thinking, I don't know, maybe we found the person again after their trigger?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. "Not that I know of. You might try Watchdog, it's more their remit. Why?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shadow Stalker claims to have a mental presence that identified itself as a master trigger she caused, which no longer exists. It doesn't give us any more to go on than a first name, Taylor. Female, by the way. I think Stalker is up to something and misused M/s protocols to cover her tracks, but if she's telling the truth it's a serious matter."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin stared at her. "It's extremely serious. I know I sponsored the girl, but I can't be the only one to take her seriously in spite of her past, can I?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hannah had to think about that for longer than she was really comfortable with. "So you believe her." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The risk of not believing her is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too damn high. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why haven't you notified the Director?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hannah sighed. "I just left. She's not mentally well, you know this. I came right here to check my thinking before I kicked it up the chain." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin nodded. "Right. You did well, I suppose. I'll notify the Director, you call a sitewide M/s lockdown. Is Shadow Stalker available?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I told her to rest." Hannah pulled out her phone and hit a few keys. A silent alarm went out, informing all those who saw it that they could not trust anyone. Not even themselves. "Unless you or the Director countermand that…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin shook his head. "No. I'll talk to her. I need a full written report."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hannah nodded. "On it. Give me an hour, maximum." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her bed, Sophia dreamed of a hole the size and shape of a person, in the wall of a dark room decorated only by shadows. Through the hole spilled an almost blinding light, and a cool wind… </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the enormity of the situation presents itself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I had resolved that no matter what, I was not going to mention the tampons. Did Taylor know about the tampons? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, right. She'd lived them. Silly question. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a way this was the perfect crime, honestly. I had finally pulled this massive prank on the ideal victim, carefully chosen, and somehow managed to erase all evidence of it ever having happened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was just the small catch, which was that, you know, the victim had triggered and </span>
  <em>
    <span>possessed me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and had a </span>
  <b>master power </b>
  <span>of some undisclosed kind, and that all the evidence that the victim had ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>existed </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been conveniently </span>
  <b>erased</b>
  <span>. So it was also the perfect punishment. Basically, I was in hell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is why I was not going to mention the tampons, no matter how hard I was pressed. I was in bad enough straits, without making myself look like I actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved </span>
  </em>
  <span>them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor was totally going to mention the tampons. I didn't think I could stop her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Director Emily Piggot narrowed her eyes at Armsmaster. "I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Which part," he asked. It was a fair question. The verbal report he'd just delivered had taken about ten minutes, was exactly three thousand seven hundred and ninety five words long, and had several characters, several moving parts, and a couple of improbable or unlikely situations, all of which were </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously </span>
  </em>
  <span>problematic for the Protectorate and the PRT, if not </span>
  <em>
    <span>parahuman science as it was presently understood. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Armsmaster," Piggot said scaldingly, "the very fact that you have to ask me which part I want you to repeat is evidence that I perhaps don't actually require you to repeat an entire verbal report." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stuttered. "T-then why would you want me to repeat it?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Because it's fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>lunacy</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't argue with that, ma'am. These are however the facts as we understand them." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. "And here are the facts as </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand them, Armsmaster: a parahuman asset under the Brockton Bay Wards, who was placed there as part of a plea deal, has gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>utterly loco</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She has either experienced a schizophrenic break, in which case she requires immediate care, or she's being a lying little shit to get herself out of trouble. The latter doesn't make sense, given the gravity of what she admitted to, so I have just one question."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What's that, ma'am?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my base </span>
  </em>
  <span>under an M/s lockdown because you can't recognize a mental health incident and respond to it correctly without me holding your hand?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Armsmaster paled a bit, under his helmet. "We'll rectify that, ma'am." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She steepled her fingers and regarded him carefully. "Thank you. I understand the urge to jump to parahuman explanations for phenomena involving parahumans and being investigated by the PRT and Protectorate. Obviously I do. But sometimes the easiest answer is the correct one. And there is a human being, despite her terrible personality, who needs our help. I'm not saying there's nothing else happening, but I am saying to treat the obvious like it's worthy of your immediate attention and continue observing neutrally while you wait for evidence of anything more."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. "I will, ma'am. Something seems off about the entire incident, and the moment I know what I'll let you know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you. Dismissed." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was not until he left that Emily let go of her grip on the arms of her chair, which had whitened the bed of her nails with its strength. A master who could erase herself from existence and inhabit the minds of her capes? With a </span>
  <em>
    <span>legitimate </span>
  </em>
  <span>grievance against the Protectorate? Nobody would ever accuse her of being too suspicious of parahumans ever again. If, she reminded herself, breathing carefully, any of that turned out to be true. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled up her email client and sent a records request to Watchdog: specifically, one for any evidence of a person named Taylor, age fourteen, who had resided in Brockton Bay or attended Winslow, or who had kept company with Emma Barnes at any point in time. If the mystery cape had managed to alter reality </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they had all been retroactively fucked since </span>
  <em>
    <span>her subordinates </span>
  </em>
  <span>went rogue and caused their trigger. If they hadn't, they hadn't been erasing paper or digital storage from inside Sophia Hess's head, of all places. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was bad, but it was definitely surmountable until proven otherwise. In the meantime, if they could get Hess to open up, feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they might be able to find more information. The worst possible result from that was that she was merely losing her mind, and could be treated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emily truly did not want to know how bad this </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>be. But she had a duty to find out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On Chief Director Costa-Brown's desktop computer, an alert pinged. The Watchdog system had been pinged for a Case 71, as they were being called. Retroactive information manipulators, of any kind, presented a serious problem. The ability to alter even one bit of any storage media (memory was one) retroactively was very serious: it was either a violation of the second law of thermodynamics, or it did a very good job of appearing to be one. Luckily, this was merely a suspected report, and a request for information — if it was true, and an entire person had undone themselves except for a tenuous and as-yet ill-defined relationship with </span>
  <em>
    <span>the cause of their trigger </span>
  </em>
  <span>and their mind, things had escalated very quickly into a realm nobody was quite sure what to do with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nevertheless, other people had to be informed, and quickly. "Door me," Director Costa-Brown said. Her body double would be back from lunch shortly, and nothing would be amiss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I think I got it," Taylor said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia rolled her head to look at her, opening one eye slowly. "Got what. How are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." Taylor laughed softly. "You're still asleep. I got the um, locker to look like your Wards quarters instead of a locker. It had tampons in it. Used tampons. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So </span>
  </em>
  <span>awful. Was that your idea or Emma's?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia regarded the tall, skinny girl before her. She seemed familiar, although Sophia couldn't imagine why, exactly. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> why, of course. But rationally it didn't make sense. What bothered her most was that she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>seen eyes like those that smudged spectacles could not conceal, or the hair Taylor was letting fall over her face. This beast inside her mind was filled with a terrible resolve, and she had woken her. "You're…not angry. You just want to know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Very astute," Taylor said. "What good would </span>
  <em>
    <span>anger</span>
  </em>
  <span> do? Yes, I think the locker was the time I </span>
  <em>
    <span>most </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to beat you until your brains came out your nose. But now this would be like burning down my own house, would it not?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia sat there for a second, slack jawed and still sleepy. Which made sense, as this was a dream. "I mean, I guess?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor continued, stalking back and forth in a black sweatsuit and bare feet. "It doesn't make any difference what either of us think of our situation, right now. Each of us is tied up in the other. If you die, I die. If you succeed in the material world, so do I. If you get locked in the Birdcage, so do I." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia raised a hand. "Wait. I don't deserve the Birdcage, no matter what I did to you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, we're something a little bit more complicated than a Case 70. We technically don't exist, not that I know of. Or rather, we're the first instance of this."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of possession, you mean," Sophia drawled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If you like. Or of a master having complete control over the person who caused their trigger and also residing in that person's brain."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Complete control," Sophia said dubiously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes." Taylor smiled softly, and Sophia heard water running in the bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she woke, and it became clear that Taylor had not been taking the piss. Complete. Control. She busied herself changing her sheets, hoping that this awful cluster didn't get worse quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you, you know that? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As I was saying. When they find out I can do…this…what </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>won't </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>they do to you? We're dangerous, even you can see that. Even if I don't know quite how dangerous myself, yet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>We should run away and join the Slaughterhouse Nine, obviously. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A stark, harsh laugh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>You </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>should make sure nobody sees those sheets. That would be a hard thing to explain, even compared to whatever else you've been dealing with the last few days. As for what I want? Let's not let you fuck it up. It'll be good for you, I promise. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>How can I trust you? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You don't have much of a choice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia had to hand it to Taylor. That was probably true. She continued cleaning herself and her bed, mercifully unmolested further, and then fell asleep again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time, she dreamed of a Greyhound bus to nowhere, and no driver at the wheel. The only thing that kept her from panicking, as this bus journeyed through a night darker than black, was the certainty that it would get where it was going. Eventually, and without her approval or consent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"But that doesn't make sense. Whole brain emulation is impossible, Colin." Dragon's face was hard with resolve, and her eyes were lit with something like fear. The monitor was low resolution, compared to what could be done, but even it showed her expression clearly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not even that. It's an auditory hallucination that happens to have a name. Unless it isn't." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And then it's two brains laid one atop the other. On the same material substrate. The implications are enormous." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin nodded. "Yes. If she's telling the truth, I'm not sure what to make of any of it. It almost has bigger implications for the nature of human consciousness than it does for whatever powers are, and how they work." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dragon considered this briefly. "Yes. It would have positive effects, though." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Certainly. Whole brain emulation being used by a publicly known hero could pave the way for the widespread acceptance of artificially intelligent life forms, if those were ever to exist." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin looked at Dragon for a second. Was she saying what he thought she was? "But surely just as much fear of whatever such an entity could do. After all, Shadow Stalker claims she's a master." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dragon sighed. "Yes. We don't really know that for sure, though. Nor if we did could we accurately test the power, not without the master's full cooperation." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. Which is something I plan to talk to Sophia and…Taylor about, at some point." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A chime went off on Dragon's end, and she brightened considerably. "Oh! Speaking of which. The search came back." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin sat up straight, putting his tools down for once. "And?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There are no census records, no enrollment data at Winslow for anyone matching the description Stalker gave of your person of interest. There is, however, a birth certificate for a Taylor Hebert there in the Bay. June 13, 1995. Born to a Danny and an Annette Hebert, who were…" she paused. "Married and living together until Annette was killed in a car accident in 2010. Downloading his address to you now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin smiled slightly. "Thanks, I appreciate it." He turned to walk away, and was only stopped by Dragon calling over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"She wanted us to know she existed," she said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Understood," Colin said. "I think." Then he smiled wider. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Contessa found herself looking at the same report for the same search query, and drawing slightly different conclusions. The sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>significance </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the ability to alter information selectively, rather than deleting one's existence wholesale, meant that M/s protocols were not enough. Not for the Brockton Bay Protectorate Headquarters, not for anyone. They were at the mercy of a disembodied mind capable of rewriting (for sure) any digitally stored information that concerned her. Obviously, the easier answer to all of the data was that this Taylor Hebert person had died before the 2000 census, possibly stillborn (most likely, in fact) and that the name given by Sophia Hess's hallucination was a mere coincidence. However, it was quite the astronomical coincidence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What was more concerning was that the entity she suspected to be a recently triggered Taylor Hebert, age fourteen, residing in Sophia Hess's brain, could be pathed. This didn't mean anything in particular, but it did indicate that there was at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>plausible </span>
  </em>
  <span>information for her power to work with. There was simply no way to assume that a master of the type they were modeling was not, at this very moment, on the loose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was itself possibly an extremely beneficial development. Depending on what else they found out over the next few hours, this could be what Cauldron had been looking for. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sat back and waited for Armsmaster's report to be written.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Debate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The future is in motion. But whose future? And whose vision?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Danny Hebert sat up from the TV, where he'd been falling asleep. A rerun of The Prisoner (the American remake with Jim Caviezel, not that he was entirely sure how he knew this or why he cared) droned on with or without his conscious attention, but it was not what had woken him. No, that would be the motorcycle. It didn't sound quite right, not like a Harley (nor like a Kawasaki — he'd imported too many of the things by hand to call them rice rockets, even though he wanted to) — no, it had the uncanny sound of tinkertech. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Armsmaster</em>. Why was he in the neighborhood? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The motorcycle's engine cut. Danny waited, expecting gunshots, or Lung, or heaven <em>knew </em>what anymore. But the next sound was worse. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A knock at the door. What did <em>capes </em>want with a lonely widower? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He cautiously opened the door a crack, and then peered out. "Hello? Can I help you?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Armsmaster shoved a hand at him, ostensibly to be shaken. So Danny did. Armsmaster just kind of…held the hand there? Was he <em>actually</em> a robot? Danny could have sworn that was just talk, something funny people said. Danny let go. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He repeated himself. "Can…I...help you?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Armsmaster suddenly collected himself, looking at Danny like he'd been startled while reading a book. "Sorry. I was just perusing the file on the case I'm working while I waited." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I've been right here," Danny said, somewhat put out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Anyway," Armsmaster said brusquely. "I've been told you had a daughter?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Never did. The wife and I tried, but...oh, hell. It's a long story. We never adopted — too expensive. And then she…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Armsmaster nodded. "The car accident. May I come in?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny narrowed his eyes. "The hell you can. Where do you get off talking to me like this? Is there something fucking <em>wrong </em>with you, or what?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Armsmaster nodded gamely. "I've been told as much." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny shook his head. "Jesus fucking Christ," he said under his breath. "That would explain a lot, I guess," he said a bit louder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I imagine it might. May I come in?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny sighed. "Fine. What is going on? Don't tell me. Some cape is claiming to be my long lost daughter, and it's got you all in knots trying to figure out what's what." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Armsmaster grinned, taking the offered seat. "It's actually funny you should say that…" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a brief explanation, Danny did not think it was funny at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Sophia woke the next morning to breakfast, delivered to her by none other than Missy Biron. "Hey," she said shyly, putting down the tray. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia looked it over — pancakes, orange juice, eggs, sausage patties. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to have this made by the cafeteria, and more still to bring it up on a plate, still piping hot. "Who put you up to this, twerp?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missy sighed. "Really? I mean, I <em>know </em>you, Sophia, but <em>really</em>? Why be so salty all the time? I'm trying to do something nice for you." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Indeed. Really? Why? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Did I ask you? </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I'll butt my nose into my own business as I please. It </em>
  <em>
    <strong>is</strong>
  </em>
  <em> mine now, and don't forget it. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Ugh. Fine. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sorry, Missy. I'm going through some shit. Thought someone might have tried to get you to butter me up on their behalf." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pouted. "They did. That doesn't mean it wasn't genuine on my part." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia took a bite of the sausage. Hot and spicy, her favorite. Good. Missy had paid attention somewhere. "Okay. Spill. Who." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Who <em>hasn't</em>? Word is you spent all day in M/s yesterday, voluntarily. And nobody's quite sure why." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia facepalmed. "I forgot to mention the…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The what?" Missy looked at her, concern taking over her young features and putting about ten years on them that had no right to be there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia worked her jaw. She couldn't find the words and it made her feel like a burden. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you okay?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why was Missy taking care of her? Why did Missy have to care if she was crazy? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Taylor, please. I need to be able to trust her. She won't tell if I don't let her.</strong>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Happy together. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Ugh, fine. Whatever. As long as you let me tell her! </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Good. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia's jaw relaxed, and words spilled out. "Like that. Body mouth didn't do what want. Humming. Damn it! I just fucking started humming Happy Together by the fucking Turtles and I don't even know how I know that song or who the turtles are. And I forgot to tell Miss Militia, except I don't think I forgot."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missy stared. "You just got mastered right in front of me." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia nodded. "Looks about right." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Holy shit. We've got to tell someone!" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia shook her head frantically. "No no. Don't. Please. She's letting me tell you because I said you won't." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missy's eyes widened. "Fingers crossed. Our secret." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia nodded. "Thank you." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Fingers crossed is a funny way to swear an oath, Taylor. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>No skin off my back. I don't even control </em>
  <em>
    <strong>you</strong>
  </em>
  <em>, no matter how stupid convenient an excuse that is for you. We're basically roommates, and I need to force you to admit it sometimes. That's all. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>She's just going to tell, then, </strong>
  <em>
    <strong>like that</strong>
  </em>
  <strong>. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Let her. What are they going to do? Lock you up? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Most likely. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I don't want them to. So they won't. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Not a master? You sure about that? </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Very. I'm a tenant and I have </em>
  <em>
    <strong>rights. </strong>
  </em>
  <em>They can't lock me up for something </em>
  <em>
    <strong>you </strong>
  </em>
  <em>did, now can they? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia was beginning to find this logic disturbingly compelling. And besides, it suited her. So she silently chewed on her eggs, thinking. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You all right?" Missy sounded cheerful again, thankfully. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, I was just talking to Taylor. Apparently she knows you're going to tell on me and doesn't care." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Missy squinted. "Shit, does that mean I've been mastered?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia chuckled. "I don't think so. She honestly believes she's my…roommate and not in control. We just have to figure it out, I guess." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hm. Insanity may be back on the menu, here." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia threw a pillow at her, and they both laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In Piggot's office, a Zoom meeting was taking place, upon which Hannah Washington had been assured the fate of the world did <em>not </em>hang. But given that the participants were a lapel cam Vista had not been informed she was wearing, Piggot and Hannah herself, Chief Director Costa-Brown, a Watchdog analysis team, and an undisclosed consultant who didn't have a camera feed or any identifying information, Hannah was <em>not </em>convinced that this was anything but severely dire. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You said Mr Hebert didn't know anything about this." Costa-Brown was frustrated, and it seemed she was not a morning person. One eye sagged, perhaps twitching from the stress. The image wasn't clear, it was difficult to tell. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes. He's been earmarked for further observation when necessary, but we don't think he's going to be an element of the investigation going forward," Piggot said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You said when necessary, not if." The unnamed consultant spoke through a heavy filter. Their gender, age, and whatever else was completely indeterminate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Everything is on the table until it isn't," Piggot replied. "I can tell you what to expect, but I can't in good conscience rule anything out." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A wise approach," the consultant said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Watchdog rep hissed wordlessly. "Hush! Something is happening!" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hannah noted that it was more a question of what was <em>not </em>happening. Sophia appeared unable to speak, for a brief moment. Then she found words, and Hannah's heart went still. "Oh dear God," she said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Piggot coughed. "I was afraid of something like that. We have a master loose in our facility, Chief. Tell me why I shouldn't lock down right now." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Observation," the filtered voice said. "We discussed this last night, when Armsmaster presented his report." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm surprised she didn't jump right to demanding a kill order," Costa-Brown said bemusedly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I hold savages back on the frontier, Chief Director," Piggot said somewhat indignantly. "It's not my intention to join them." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And yet," the Chief Director said drily. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Piggot rolled her eyes. Then the period of silence on the video was broken. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"She said she was talking to Taylor?" Hannah pointed at the screen excitedly. "It seems as if the relationship isn't fully adversarial." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm surprised Canary didn't try this line about roommates," opined the Watchdog rep (needlessly, as far as Hannah was concerned).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hah." Piggot snorted, and Hannah's eyes were drawn to the sausages on Sophia's plate. "Rent, an off Broadway production starring Bad Canary." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The filtered voice spoke up. "I appreciate the humor, ladies, but this is a very unique situation. It is possible that we are not, in fact, dealing with a master effect here. At least not one as prevalent as we had thought." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Watchdog spoke again. "What were the results on the Barnes screening?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Inconclusive," Costa-Brown said. "The issue is that you need an executive function baseline to establish master effects, and Miss Barnes scored low enough that any mastery would be indistinguishable from noise. Either clinical depression or a sheer lack of actual ambition, but it does us no good either way."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Piggot grunted. "It's just <em>easier </em>to master someone if they have no idea what they actually want. It doesn't make it <em>impossible</em>. Don't be ridiculous." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Filter spoke again, with perhaps a hint of amusement. "No, but it makes it impossible to detect. I've been using a proprietary algorithm to model the subject, one running as if they're a master and a thrall, the other as if they're roommates. Both results predict the same behavior either way. Very strange." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Curiouser and curiouser," Hannah mused. It was only when Piggot turned to stare witheringly at her that she realized she'd said that aloud. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The camera closed, as Vista left the room. "Well, that's that," Piggot said. "We'll try to get more data later, but for now we need to let Stalker rest. Either way she's under a heavy mental load, here." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Costa-Brown nodded. "I wonder if it would be possible to transfer her to the Los Angeles Wards, for observation. Alexandria has some insight into masters and victims that might be useful here." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Piggot sighed. "It would honestly be ideal. She's not helping out here on a <em>good </em>day, and regardless of <em>why</em> I think we're in for several bad ones here." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'll relay that to her and see what she suggests, then," said the Chief Director. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia kicked off the sheets and stood up, pacing around the now empty room. "So what do you want from 'us', Taylor?" She spoke aloud, cautiously, clarifying her intent mentally to allow her "roommate" to do the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't long before her own voice replied. "I want to join New Wave." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why the fuck would you want to…" her voice trailed off as she thought about it. The more she did, the more it made sense. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is that why you tried to get in touch with Brandish?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her voice replied, again, now with a sing-song lilt that made her tongue feel funny. "A different font," she heard herself say. "In case people need to tell us apart." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia nodded. "That makes sense. <em>I think. </em>Listen, I don't actually want to work with you. I just have to." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know," she replied. "Believe it or not, I'm trying to be fair to you, in spite of the way you've treated me." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why," Sophia asked herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Because," she said. "I suspect that we either can't be the only ones in this particular pickle, or won't be for very long. And we don't fit into the cape system, either the way the Protectorate works or the unwritten rules generally speaking. Not as you understand them, anyway. So to protect us and who <em>we </em>are, if nothing else, things have to change."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The truth was, Sophia was beginning to like Taylor. Her resolve seemed like the sort of thing that she would, if they'd ever truly known each other, have at <em>least</em> grudgingly admired. And if she'd simply <em>met </em>Taylor but never had a reason to get to know her, she could very easily have imagined them becoming enemies. Which had, apparently, been what happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Me too," Taylor said, for the first time, although she had borrowed Sophia's mouth to use it. Neither girl could articulate what the difference was between this and Sophia talking to herself as Taylor, but they both knew it was there, and that was enough. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"New Wave is fucking dead, though," said Sophia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not after we're finished with them," said Taylor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hell yes?" Sophia wondered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Danger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Measure of a Man, but it's two girls, one brain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I think you ought to know about the tampons," Taylor said. The interviewer cocked an eyebrow at us, lifting his pen briefly.<br/><br/>"I fucking knew she was going to mention that," Sophia said dourly.<br/><br/>"Why weren't <em>you</em>?" the interviewer asked. "And what about them, exactly?"<br/><br/>"Honestly, it's irrelevant," Sophia said. "This was a thing that happened in…our? Trigger event. How Taylor got here."<br/><br/>"That doesn't seem irrelevant at all."<br/><br/>"I plead the f…" Sophia hiccupped. "Fuck yourself." Taylor continued.<br/><br/>"The locker. Full to the brim of used tampons. I'm not sure where she and Emma got them, or how they got them, and I definitely don't know <b>why </b>they got them, but so help me, I spent six hours (easy) surrounded by used tampons and locked in a locker. Which smell like twelve year old boy ass at the best of times."<br/><br/>The interviewer whistled. "<em>Well</em>. As you know, none of this is actually prosecutable — none of it's even admissible. Until we have something more conclusive to go on, our policy is to treat this Taylor…Herbert, you said?"<br/><br/>"I did not. I said Hebert."<br/><br/>The interviewer nodded. "Sorry, that. Anyway, policy is to treat her as if she exists. We're really not sure if she's her own person yet, legally speaking, let alone otherwise."<br/><br/>"Us either," said the girls.<br/><br/>"Right. There are difficulties. But this…trigger event is something not clearly understood by science. It happened in what effectively amounts to another universe. So we're just looking to understand, not to judge." He wrinkled his nose. "But seriously, what the fuck?!"<br/><br/>Sophia was beginning to wonder that herself. If she could track down this alternate universe past version of her, she'd have quite a few questions…<br/><br/>And the truth was, the girl she was looking for didn't have any answers. It was <em>too plausible. </em>She had probably done that.<br/><br/>"Anyway. I don't want to talk about this either. I just thought it was worth mentioning. We have an appointment with legal counsel at ten thirty, and I'd like to get some breakfast…may we go, please?"<br/><br/>The interviewer nodded. "Interview log, end. Sophia Hess and nominal designation Taylor Hebert, two twelve eleven, zero nine hundred."<br/><br/><b>We really have to figure this out.</b><br/><br/><em>The whole thing where I'm stuck inside a head that thought a bushel of used tampons – nay, an <b>armful – </b>was a funny prank?</em><br/><br/><b>I meant the part where you keep just possessing me randomly, but…yeah. That too. That head could use some figuring out.</b><br/><br/><em>Oh hey, a light bulb just came on up here.</em><br/><br/><b>You cannot be serious.</b><br/><br/><em>I am. But it's all just a subjective mental representation anyway, so I wouldn't read too much into it. Except, hmmmm...it's a subjective mental representation of a subjective mental representation, I guess, isn't it? Am I thought? Does that mean I don't objectively exist?</em><br/><br/><b>Stop, you're making my head hurt.</b><br/><br/><em>I'm <b>in </b>your head. What about me?</em><br/><br/><b>Yes.</b><br/><br/>The truth was, Taylor had just raised several very valid questions. Sophia didn't need to have watched any more Star Trek or read any more philosophy than she actually had to recognize that. But these questions were not something she could answer, not by thinking. Only by doing. And doing was something she was very good at.<br/><br/>It's just that usually the consequences of her "experimental methods" fell on other people. And now this was doubly the case, but Taylor was the other people in question. And Sophia wasn't sure she was comfortable with that.<br/><br/>It was a strange feeling.<br/><br/>They (Sophia?) wound their way done the hall and into the Wards common room, dual wielding donuts. One for Taylor and one for Sophia — Boston creme and lemon iced, respectively. There they sat, to enjoy a short meal…<br/><br/>Sophia looked up. Time stopped. Or seemed to, for now. "Not <em>now</em>, Clock."<br/><br/>He looked hurt. He was a good actor, though, so she was certain it would buff out. "We're off duty, so Dennis is fine, you know."<br/><br/>"I take it you haven't been briefed."<br/><br/>Dennis's eyes widened. "What is there to brief me on? Are we on duty somehow? Did I miss it?"<br/><br/>Sophia shook her head. "I caused a trigger event yesterday, at school. Some kid who I was bullying. She…retroactively deleted herself from reality, except from my head? It's <em>really </em>fucked up."<br/><br/>"what." Sophia grinned smugly. Anything that had Dennis speechless had to be somehow worth it, right? Then, unfortunately, he came up with something to say that was also correct. "She can't just, like, take over your head like that."<br/><br/>Sophia sighed. "You're correct, and yet she did. It doesn't even seem to have been intentional. Officially speaking, I have multiple personalities now. <em>Officially </em>officially speaking, the Protectorate isn't losing a valuable asset over said asset being subjected to a phenomena that challenges our understanding of parahuman science, consciousness and everything else all in one fell swoop. Nor is it letting said asset walk free into the wider world when it already works for the Wards. If you'd like to invent some way to separate our various neural electrical patterns and perhaps house one in a tinkertech device of some kind, I'm sure that a promotion of some sort could be arranged. Until then, say hi to Taylor Hebert, recently of Winslow High."<br/><br/>"Hi, Taylor." Taylor waved.<br/><br/>Dennis pouted. "That's my line. Like, I'm the team joker. I'm supposed to do shit like that."<br/><br/>"Sorry," Taylor said. "As you might imagine, I'm not really sure <em>what </em>I'm supposed to do, anymore, so I'm trying different things."<br/><br/>Dennis nodded. "No, I get it. So you and Sophia hate each other, or what? If someone made me trigger, I don't know what I'd do."<br/><br/>"Well, it would be hating myself, wouldn't it? Effectively speaking, anyway. What purpose would that serve?"<br/><br/>Dennis thought about that. "That's very mature of you, I guess?"<br/><br/>"Well it's under duress. So make of that what you will."<br/><br/>"I thought all maturity was."<br/><br/>Sophia interjected. "The guy who said hell was other people? Fuck him. I have to live it. Hebert isn't <em>that </em>bad, though."<br/><br/>Dennis nodded. "I see. You made her trigger, though, so I don't get why she isn't."<br/><br/>"I dunno. I guess she just…doesn't want to spend time arguing? Neither do I."<br/><br/>Dennis stood in silence, then finally came up with something worth his mental energy. "So what's touching yourself like now?"<br/><br/>Sophia simply glared.<br/><br/>*****<br/>"No, I'm not her <em>defense attorney</em>," Carol Dallon spat. "She hasn't been charged with a crime. I'm her <em>attorney, </em>period, and it's none of your business why, exactly." The truth was that this was what Carol was there to find out. She didn't have any idea what was going on, just that her entire retainer had been paid since sometime last night, from an anonymous bank account in the Caymans, and this was good enough for her. The fact that Barnes' idiot problem child had referred her was insignificant compared to whoever was paying that. "Now I need to get in there, I've got a meeting."<br/><br/>The gate guard was skeptical. "Are you sure you have no idea?"<br/><br/>Carol gestured furiously. "I have enough of one. I'm being paid to know, you're not. Now do I need to call your supervisor? I have Piggot on speed dial, you know."<br/><br/>The gate rose, and she accelerated through without another word. This entire thing had better be good.<br/><br/>*****<br/><br/>Taylor sighed. "I think the aggressive approach is unhelpful, Mrs Dallon. I'm perfectly fine with the limitations that have been placed on my freedom of movement, so far, and with occasional observation and so forth. I'm an object of curiosity, it's somewhat understandable. I want to understand myself, actually."<br/><br/>Sophia noted that this was something she'd <em>never </em>been good at. Did she have a choice now? Hebert wouldn't want her to just…goldbrick everything.<br/><br/><em>I can hear you, you know. Are you worth knowing?</em><br/><br/><b>Excuse me?</b><br/><br/><em>It's a question you have to answer for yourself. Are "we" merely a scientific curiosity and you are Sophia Hess, victim of circumstance? Are you as fascinating to yourself as the paranormal incident trapped in your skull is? Or are you involved in this intriguing, wonderful madness too?</em><br/><br/><b>Maybe I just want to understand us. Maybe there isn't any "I" anymore. Like Buddhism or something.</b><br/><br/><em>I'm just gonna note that two days ago I didn't think I'd ever hear you say something like that.</em><br/><br/><b>Two days ago I didn't even know who you were.</b><br/><br/><em>That's…how do you actually believe that? It's so confusing to me, like, why don't you have your memories of what happened before?</em><br/><br/><b>I guess if I did you'd hold my shit against me. Maybe it just makes it easier.</b><br/><br/><em>You mean I'd be able to get away with it, not that I don't actually hold it against you.</em><br/><br/><b>That. Sorry?</b><br/><br/><em>Sorry wouldn't cut it if I wasn't <b>you</b>. So I will ask – if you had harmed yourself, Sophia, would "sorry lol" begin to be enough for you?</em><br/><br/><b>Stop asking me hard questions.</b><br/><br/><em>No.</em><br/><br/>"You drifted again," Carol Dallon said.<br/><br/>"Sorry. Got talking to my…ourselves?" Sophia had to laugh at this. "This is fucking absurd, all right."<br/><br/>Carol nodded. "It is. But yes. A double absurdity is that the best argument I can think of to preserve your legal rights and dignity is one of intellectual property, rather than personhood. Essentially your consciousness, under this argument, would be your own intellectual property. 'Consciousness', in this case, referring mainly to the expression of the legal person Sophia Hess as her persona, creation, etc 'Taylor Hebert'."<br/><br/>"There's no argument where I get legal rights as my own person at all?"<br/><br/>"Unfortunately not. The issue is that Case 70s get this easily — they're able to trace their existence to before the trigger event, and as such the law has no problem with it. Insofar as property ownership is concerned, anyway. When one half of a Case 70 gets arrested, they both do, and there's nothing that can be done about that. You're both the same person, <em>practically speaking</em>, and our legal system is cavalier about personhood on the best of days. If there was a practical argument to be made for fighting it more strenuously, I'd be making it."<br/><br/>Sophia sighed. "The older I get, the more I find it's worse than my mom told me it would be."<br/><br/>Carol nodded, a sympathetic cast briefly overtaking her features. "But you're both happy with being on the Wards? Continuing in the course Sophia was on?"<br/><br/>"Absolutely not," Taylor said. "We would like to join New Wave."<br/><br/>"Why?" Carol asked.<br/><br/>"The Wards have clearly not been a constructive environment for my host, nor have they properly exercised their legal custody over her to prevent crimes and damage to persons, etc. Additionally New Wave would allow us to speak openly about our mutual circumstances, under any name we chose to use. I rather miss being called by name."<br/><br/>Carol looked suitably impressed by this. Taylor admitted herself a brief happiness – perhaps her future would be easier than she had been beginning to fear. Additionally, she felt, her mother would be proud of her.<br/><br/>"Compelling," Carol said. "Tell me, have you considered a career in law?"<br/><br/>"With the proper support I'm quite sure I could do well in that." Taylor smiled as winningly as she could.<br/><br/>"Well butter me up, why don't you," said Carol. "So, this has all been an extended audition for New Wave?"<br/><br/>"Not entirely. I also want to see my father."<br/><br/>Carol stroked her chin. "Hm. I'm not sure if that would work or not. Do you think he...listen, would he recognize you?"<br/><br/>"I want to find out. It's better than not knowing, I think."<br/><br/>This was the first time Sophia had ever actually hurt on Taylor's behalf. At least her biological dad <em>recognized </em>her, when they spoke last. To have him be alive and not know who she was?<br/><br/>She looked down, and found that she was holding her own hand.<br/><br/>Carol regarded the girl before her. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, members of New Wave are affirmed by a majority vote. I'll start that process as well."<br/><br/>"Thank you." Taylor smiled. It was so nice to be able to trust that the adults in her life knew what they were doing…<br/><br/>"Sophia." Carol was now stern, and looking into her eyes directly. "Your family life has been…a little less than ideal, if your file is anything to go by. Perhaps you and Taylor could discuss any custody modifications you both felt were appropriate? I'm sure something can be arranged."<br/><br/>Sophia sucked in a breath. She hadn't even considered that. "Like, emancipation, or…"<br/><br/>"Likely not, unless you're making enough money to live off of. Which my understanding is that you are not."<br/><br/>Sophia nodded.<br/><br/>"But there are options. I know if the state were asked, all other things being equal, to place Taylor Hebert as you've described her with your mother, it would not even consider the idea. I'm not judging her, or you, I'm just…noting some facts that are relevant, in my capacity as a legal advisor."<br/><br/>Sophia sighed. "I suppose we did ask for this, treating Taylor as a person from the outset."<br/><br/>"It's also definitely the right thing to do. You two must agree on your desired outcomes, though, or I can't help you at all." Carol smiled. "I'm going to enjoy this, honestly. It's been a while since I had such an interesting case."<br/><br/>"Oh, look. We're an interesting case!"<br/><br/>Carol laughed. "A sense of humor is actually a wonderful thing to have in your situation. Oh. One more thing, before I go. You didn't hear this from me, but there are...unconventional job opportunities for capes in similar positions available at the Palanquin club, on occasion. Not necessarily for the asking, but it's a possibility."<br/><br/>Sophia narrowed her eyes. "Did my lawyer just encourage me to commit a crime?"<br/><br/>Carol winked. "I advocate for my clients, that's all. You have options, and the fact that you volunteered to choose one where I benefit greatly can't be seen to affect my impartiality."<br/><br/>"Thank you. It means a lot, to me, anyway."<br/><br/>"And to me." Sophia sighed. "It's just taking some getting used to, that's all."<br/><br/>"I understand completely. Now, the hour is up — I've got to run, actually. I have clients elsewhere. And you guys have some sort of power testing scheduled, I understand?"<br/><br/>"I think it's either an EEG or a medieval torture chamber, actually. The photos are not promising." Sophia made a face.<br/><br/>Carol frowned. "My condolences, then. I'll ask around — it's possible that a colleague may have similar equipment at her fingertips."<br/><br/>"I'd appreciate it."<br/><br/>Sophia stood up, running her fingers through her hair. The thing that scared her about all this, she thought, was how much potential there was in it. Things might get better, and stay that way. All she'd had to do was hurt someone almost irrevocably…<br/><br/>It was very difficult to face the facts, sometimes. It was lucky, it seemed, that Taylor wasn't as interested in this as she seemed like she should be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Connectome</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I want these chapters to be longer, but that isn't how muses work. We don't always get to pick. I like what I did get, though!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mr Hebert. Thanks for coming." Hannah smiled at him sympathetically. It was difficult to imagine what he was feeling, or thinking — he wasn't actually aware of his supposed history with Taylor, she knew. Taylor hoped this would be different — that she would jog a memory, somehow — but all Hannah could imagine was how frustrating it must feel to have someone <em>think</em> they're your daughter, and know they're not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny was a good man. "Well, what else could I do?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shrugged. "I don't know. Most people would have done nothing at all. Wait here, please. I'll go get...Shadow Stalker."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took a seat. A plush recliner in a visitation area, with a TV and a small table. It was homey enough without bringing him into Ward quarters, but still, she felt bad for him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She kept this to herself, though, and wove through the halls until she came to Sophia's room, at which she knocked. "We're not going out there in costume," Sophia said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, like we said, that's up to you two. But may I ask why?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Because Taylor wants to. If this guy's gonna be in her life, he's gonna be in mine. And I won't hide."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hannah smiled. "It takes guts to unmask to a civilian at all." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't think it'll do any good. But I'm trying to stay positive for her."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hannah nodded. "I understand."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door opened, and Sophia presented herself. She was dressed in a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair was a mess, and…"what?" she said. "he's my <em>dad. </em>Ain't gonna dress up." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hannah chuckled. "All right then." She was beginning to worry, though. This man was not going to take easily to being Sophia's surrogate father as well...unless he was a saint. And she considered that somewhat unlikely. But that was between the three of them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia walked steadily down the hall, pace not faltering. If anything, her resolve only increased. Hannah had never seen the girl this excited for anything. She could only hope…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>You erased yourself. Please tell me you can make him remember you…</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Us, you mean. I'm not stupid. I get it. But I don't know how he'll react to that…because I don't know how to make him remember me, even. It might happen, it might not. Don't get your hopes up. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Who said anything about hope? You're the one who wanted to see him. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>And you're the one who thinks a dad would be a sweet deal. From what I remember it was not. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>How do we know your memories are accurate? </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Another time. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia stood in the doorway, looking at Daniel Hebert as he sat in the chair and perused a book. He looked positively normal, posture slightly lax, hairline receding, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He didn't look familiar at all, and yet she felt her heart swell with…something, at any rate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dad?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>That was my line.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Ours. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fine. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked up. "They told me you'd be coming in costume. You're Shadow Stalker?" </p>
<p>.</p>
<p>"Sophia Hess. Do I have to explain the whole thing, or what exactly?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny shook his head. "No. I'm perplexed by the concept, but I understand it well enough. Apparently I had a daughter, but…" he regarded Sophia carefully, considering his next words. "You traumatized her, she triggered, and she...erased herself from existence and took up residence inside your head, as some sort of thoughtform?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia coughed. "Yeah, basically." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The whole thing sounds ridiculous." Danny smiled. "Not to offend, but...capes are an exception to most rules of what's normal or reasonable, I've found. So I'm open."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"To…" Sophia's voice caught. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"To finding out what I'm open to." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sophia seemed to believe I could make you remember me somehow. I'm trying, but I can't. Either because I don't consciously control my power or because I…can't. I'm sorry, Dad."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny regarded the new presence carefully. Even he could feel a change in the girl. "Taylor." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her heart leaped. "They told you my name?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nodded. "The only reason I'm here is that Annette and I considered it. Back in the nineties, when we were still trying." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taylor nodded. "I remember things you don't. I remember telling you goodbye on the eleventh, going to school…you had that denim shirt on. The green one, with the hole on the sleeve. You always roll the cuff over it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny's expression was guarded, but she knew him. He wasn't convinced. "You could have observed me somehow." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded. "The night we got home from Mom's funeral. You thought I didn't hear you. But you said that if she was going to walk out on you like this and leave you with…with me, dad, she could fucking stay dead."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny's breath caught in his throat. "I've always regretted that. Every day." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded, smiling sadly. "You thought perhaps mom was cheating on you with Alan. It's one reason I never brought up that Sophia was friends with Emma. Never let you help me stop them from bullying me, until…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah," Danny said raggedly. "Okay. Hello, Taylor. It's good to meet you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You too, dad." They hugged, for quite a long time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Your voice sounded different, just now," he said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It did? I hadn't noticed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nodded. "You and the…other girl. Your voices are very different."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. My father died when I was very young, my stepfather was responsible for my own trigger event. I…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her nostrils and eyes flared, and her shoulders squared. Danny thought he saw a flickering, like smoke, at the edges of her skin, but it subsided quickly. "I shouldn't have to steal what it's like to have a father, sir. I'm receiving legal advice from Carol Dallon, and she mentioned that if Taylor 'as I've described her' was being assigned custody by the state, my mother would not even be a candidate, sir. I've been told I have options. I want Taylor to have what she wants, too."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny <em>hrrmed</em> deeply, lost in reverie for a long moment. "I think I understand." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow. "Do you?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nodded. "Let me think about it. Can you stay here for a bit, Taylor? My home isn't set up for a…daughter, and I want to make sure I do this right." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She smiled. "I think so." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiled back. "Good. It'll only be a couple days at most. I…don't think they'll let me adopt Taylor anyway, as my understanding is she's a mere...electrical arrangement, I think they said." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia grinned. "So you were going to anyway?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny looked at her carefully. "I didn't say that. But it seems that if I want to do what I feel is right I only have a few choices about how to do it." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighed. "My mother is not going to be happy with this."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny shook his head. "But it's your choice, in the end? It has to be. So if you're sure…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia nodded. "I'm trying to be." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In an upstairs office of the same building, Deputy Director Thomas Calvert sent an email to the Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Team, and mirrored it to the head of the Los Angeles Protectorate. In this email, he detailed several apparent abuses of power by Director Piggot and the New Wave team, local lawyers, social services staff, and the Youth Guard. He made a perfectly reasonable deduction on the basis of those abuses that the intent was to bury a problem Ward in the foster system, potentially for profit, and in doing so to allow the exploitation by loose cannons, freelancers and radical ideologues of a new form of consciousness. It was alleged that this could not be allowed to stand, that Alexandria must step in immediately. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he retrieved a personal phone from the pocket of his pants, and sent an email to a young female associate, encouraging her to hastily befriend Sophia Hess, who he had identified as a potential victim of parahuman child trafficking. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>That evening, in two separate living rooms at roughly equidistant points across Brockton Bay, two separate debates were taking place between two separate teams about what lines they would cross, for who, and why. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Lisa stood up from her laptop, pacing and scratching her scalp. Brian looked at her with concern. Alec merely ignored her, continuing to jackhammer away with his thumbs at a controller. Rachel was, for some reason, lost in thought and petting her dogs.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>She finally broke the silence. "Guys, we have a problem. The boss has a new recruit, but she's…uh, she's a Ward, guys." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Alec grinned. "Vista sounds like a great person. I bet we could corrupt her. A week, tops." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Lisa frowned. "You wish, but no. There are two female Wards." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Brian exhaled forcefully. "In what possible universe is the boss seriously expecting us to recruit </em>
  <em>
    <strong>Shadow Stalker</strong>
  </em>
  <em>?" </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Oh, one or the other, until we get it right, I expect." Lisa sighed. "That's not all. You see, Shadow Stalker is also…"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Carol Dallon broke the silence, which had mostly been spent pretending, among other things, that her daughter Victoria's homemade meatloaf was edible. "So, guys, I had the weirdest case at work today." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Mark Dallon chewed a bite of microwave mashed potatoes, ignoring the crunching sound they made. Then he swallowed, took a large drink of water, and spoke. "You hardly ever bring work home. What's up?" </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"All right. This is extremely sensitive, so keep it quiet. There's been some strange trigger incident, and Shadow Stalker, the Ward, is now host to another mind. I don't fully understand it myself, but…" </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Ha. I knew that bitch would crack eventually," Amy said darkly. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Well, multiple personalities were considered briefly, but I don't think that's the case." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Victoria spoke up, from the head of the table next to her mother. "Is this that Case 71 I heard a rumor about?" </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Carol beamed. "Yes, it is." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Victoria smirked at Amy. "It pays to be informed. Not everything is excusable with temporary insanity, you know." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Mark said nothing and picked at his mushy peas. Victoria was a good cook, he </strong>
  <em>
    <strong>must </strong>
  </em>
  <strong>win the battle with himself on this…</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Except for blenderizing Nazis," Amy said. "Everyone loves that." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"</strong>
  <em>
    <strong>Anyway</strong>
  </em>
  <strong>." Carol gestured with a fork. "The combined entity, or the two personas, or whatever – it seems irrelevant to me — want to join New Wave. So I'm inviting them for dinner later this week and we can, hopefully, see how that goes." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Two members and they actually </strong>
  <em>
    <strong>want to join</strong>
  </em>
  <strong>," Amy said. "We sure this isn't a Simurgh plot?" </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Hey! Just because you second guess yourself all the time doesn't mean the rest of us have to," Victoria said. "Have a little faith." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"Easy for you to say. Fine, let me know what day they're coming over. Can I be excused?" </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Mark looked at Carol expectantly. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"We haven't finished discussing this yet, Amy. Sit down." </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Amy was already on her way out the door. "Thanks mom bye dad love you hey Vicky your cooking sucks!" Then the door slammed. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"I don't know why we bother, sometimes," Carol sighed. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>"For the sheer hell of it," said Victoria. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"This is fucking insane," Brian said. "We absolutely will not recruit whatever is going on inside her diseased membrane." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Lisa jabbed a finger at the air. "The boss will. The question is whether or not we're going to help. And by extension…"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Whether or not we get paid. Or get to breathe. </em>
  <em>
    <strong>Sweet. </strong>
  </em>
  <em>I ever mention how much I love this job?" </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"All the time, Alec." Brian was growing more visibly frustrated by the minute. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"She's people." Rachel spoke, finally, as if pronouncing a death sentence. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"See? Rachel and I agree. </em>
  <em>
    <strong>Fuck </strong>
  </em>
  <em>people. What's the use?" Alec smirked. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Not helpful, Alec. We don't want to die, so I was mostly just mentioning this as a courtesy. Brian, let's make a plan. I'll handle approach and soft work, you won't have to interact at all." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Can't we keep her at arm's length, like Circus?" </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Lisa shook her head. "The boss thinks this Taylor person will help us. Says she's very inclined to fitting in well with us, from what his power tells him."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Brian shook his head. "But Stalker won't be."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Lisa grimaced. "Inconclusive. Let's hope this whole thing has scrambled her brains into playing well with others." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Alec grinned impishly. "She just hates you because she wants you, Brian. Look on the bright side." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"I'll pass, thanks." Brian couldn't help but crack a smile.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Prelude: Annette</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the world is fleshed out and the darkness before the dawn is seen.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A Gnostic heresy says that there are three signs of the <em>Sophia</em> -- the Messiah. Three sure signs of the nail. It says that these three marks shall define first her, then her world. And that by studying the wounds these nails leave, we can know Her -- and, failing that, we can know ourselves. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>I</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Spring 1989</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol and I retire to her dorm, after Lustrum’s lecture. They’re increasingly lectures, but that’s beginning to be the appeal for us both. “There’s got to be something more than...what, shooting lasers from our eyes?” I scoff. “Why aren’t powers <em>useful</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol pops a small hardlight blade from one finger, about the size of a butterknife. “I can chop onions with mine. Imagination matters.” She wraps an arm around me. “Which you have plenty of. I’m sure you can help me figure out creative uses.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I smirk. “It’s too bad you can’t blunt the ends.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks at me playfully. “Is it now.” The blade extends, to a modest but still useful six inches. I laugh lightly. She pulls back the blade. “But you get what you need. They think it’s, like, some kind of trauma event. That matches my experience.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nod. “Luckily you’re all I need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shakes her head, shushing me with a kiss. “That Hebert boy sure seems like he gets along with you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I kiss back. “Too well. He’s a goddamn pushover. He doesn’t <em>get it</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s why,” she says, grinning. “Make him into the man you need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nod, considering. “We’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She takes this as a cue to move to the next phase of the evening, turning on the stereo (Electric Light Orchestra, natch) and passing me a blotter tab. I bob my head in time to the music, softly humming, then place the tab on my tongue. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seconds pass, like eternity. She grips my hand tightly, her breath ragged. I know she’s fighting her way out of the cave -- she always does. Meanwhile, I drift. I’m sitting at the breakfast table, my eyes shining as I admire a smaller version of myself. One with more potential, who can grow up in this world we’re creating. Who can live on after me, do the things I won’t have <em>time</em> for. Raising a child takes sixteen hundred hours a year, after all. <em>Sixteen hundred.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s your career or me, Mom,” Taylor says through a mouthful of waffles. “You know that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I shake my head, resolute. “No, little owl. That’s a false dichotomy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A fly buzzes around the kitchen, but I ignore him. Taylor is what interests me about these trips. Taylor seems to be a resolution of the tensions, the conflict in my divided soul. “We can have our cake and eat it too?” she asks, and I nod.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to do cape work under my own name. We can’t get anywhere with lies,” Carol says. “This idea that who we are and who we want to be need to be separate? It’s bullshit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I blink, and Taylor fades as light hits my eyeball again. “Well, that’s just because you’re not always being who you want to be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She scoffs, punching me on the arm. “Nice, Obi-Wan. But that’s reality. The tension between the two is how we develop, you know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nod absently. I know it’s hard for her, with all she’s been through, but I’m happy being who I want to be. “You’re right,” I hear myself say. “Danny would make a great dad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grins. “See? He’ll be good for <em>something</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>II</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Fall 1994</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny holds my hand, parking the car in front of the hospital. “It’s fine. You’re fine. We’ll be fine,” he says nervously. “The doctor will help us figure out what’s going on, and she’ll be along in no time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sigh. “You better hope so, Dan. I don’t know what I’ll do without Taylor.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ll continue being enough for me. That’s worked well so far, right?” He smiles. If we are owls, he is a mouse. So innocent, so pure. I don’t deserve him, actually -- Carol agrees. She says he’s a catch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The truth is that the horrific mess of my last period -- a miscarriage, let’s be real here -- has shamed me into a bitter and quiet rage. He’s not the problem. He’s not why we can’t conceive. He’s always been <em>just fucking fine</em>. Never any more than that. A catch. Unlike me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right.” I smile weakly.</p>
<p><br/>We wait briefly for the gynecologist, and then we’re ushered back to her office. She has, she says, test results from the previous week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Everything’s good, I hope,” says Dan, speaking for me. <em>Again</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. But it’s not. The miscarriage --” he looks at me, bewildered (I hadn’t mentioned it, only to Carol) “-- it was the result of…” she drones on indistinctly, about ovaries and cysts and conditions and weakness and barrenness and failure to launch and bitterness and…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In my mind’s eye, she’s a lecturing scold, explaining that <em>I’m</em> not good enough. Dan is a stable point, which is the problem -- he’s fine. They stand on either side of me, like two thieves. Lecturing, judging. I’m hyperventilating, now, then sobbing. Finally a ragged scream erupts. “Shut the fuck <em>up</em>! Both of you. I get it, you don’t have to say anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dan holds me (the bastard) and I feel my shoulders shaking. He drives me home, quietly. We don’t speak for days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I make a birth certificate, an exact replica of the ones issued by the State of South Jersey at the time. Taylor Annette Hebert, it says. June 13, 1995, it says. It’s a craft project, it distracts me. It becomes an object of utter fixation, for a few days. On a whim, I give it to one of Lustrum’s people, who works as a county clerk. She nods in silent understanding, and I never see it again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think no more of this, in the coming years. All my dreams of who my daughter <em>should </em>have been are carefully gathered into a mystery novel for middle grade writers about a girl named Rose Ellison, and sent to a publisher. Meanwhile, by night, the world that exists has to reckon with a side of me I don’t want to reckon with myself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Summer 2001</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My eyes turn a sickly yellow, and I snarl at the Empire thugs. “Get <em>away</em> from her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The black woman they’ve got pinned to a wall looks at me, terror where her face should be. “Wormwood!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, fuck. Wormwood!” The second guy, younger and skinnier, is off like a scared rat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second turns, his fly still unzipped, and draws a gun from the waistband of his jeans. He levels it at me, but I just laugh. There’s a smell like sulfur, and his bleeding corpse is crucified on the brick wall by three spikes, jagged, like lightning bolts. Made of hard light. Same as Carol’s. Same as Lustrum’s. <em>Hell hath no fury…</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I smile comfortingly at the woman. “What’s your name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Barbara. Barbara Hess.” She’s crying now. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would have done…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t a bitter quip. So I nod. Then I make a phone call.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Annette? It’s three in the morning.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly. I need to let off some steam. Bagged another one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol sighs. “You can’t keep doing that, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I growl. “And you can’t kill me and steal my child, so what else can you do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighs again, and it feels more authentic. More like genuine disappointment than sisterly scolding. “Fine. Your place or mine?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>III</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Spring 2008</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m coming home from Carol’s after a girl’s night...in. I’m in a pensive mood, ruminating darkly. It’s true that a child takes time, time I’ve had to use better than I would have otherwise -- the endless drudgery of changing diapers now freed up for writing books, theoretical essays, newsgroup posts. The sleepless nights with crying children now given over to Danny or Carol, as my whims lead me. Has it meant anything? Has it <em>mattered</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I want to leave a legacy. Is violence and infidelity really it? Or, for that matter, a best selling series of middle grade novels, a TV deal, and a good name in feminist circles? My <em>ideas</em>? Who cares about this? I want Taylor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I close my eyes, briefly. The freeway is quiet tonight, and I can afford a moment to imagine. She’s sitting in the seat next to me, all of thirteen. Nearly a woman herself, now. “You’ve done good, mom. I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I shake my head. “Have I, really? The world is a better place because of me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure. All those women you saved...somebody’s daughter owes you their mom being <em>alive</em>. That’s a fair trade, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sigh, pensively. “I don’t know. I regret you not being here. I know that much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks at me, eyes betraying an intelligence only <em>my girl</em> could have at such a young age. “Why didn’t you ever join New Wave, Mom?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Long story, sweetheart. But...I had things I needed to hide. Things I was happy with, things I wasn’t. Why I was angry. Who I loved. New Wave is about being open -- if they kept how they feel inside from view, it would be like wearing a mask.”<br/><br/>“That was your idea, right?”</p>
<p><br/>I nod proudly. “Carol’s kinda culty with it, but it’s a good idea. I told her they couldn’t have secrets if they wanted the team to work. I <em>need</em> my secrets, so I’m not on the team.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grins. “You have me, though. You could tell Dad everything, join New Wave...you could manage all right, I think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I look at her sadly. “I don’t, Taylor. You’re not real. This is just my way of...working through everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I really must see an exterminator. Over the last few years, as my mental health worsens, the space in here has gone from flies to spiders. There’s a <em>giant</em> roach in the yard, the size of a car. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She continues eating her waffles, thinking over what I’ve said. There’s a distant siren. I look at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Endbringer,” I say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks at me in alarm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a horrible sound as the metal walls of the house tear and crumple under an impact I can’t place. I stagger. The impact has broken my ribs, probably punctured a lung. I can’t breathe and I’m bleeding…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mom!” she cries. It’s the last thing I hear.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Bellows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You thought we could get through a YASS rewrite without Dinah? Not a chance! :D Now with clearer altpower concept!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pity. That was all he felt for her. He’d been presented with a...mere curiosity, a girl who looked nothing like him and claimed to be his unborn daughter. They’d briefed him on her custody issues, her mental issues, her rap sheet, and said <em>please god take the delinquent little hoodrat off our hands</em> and he’d said well, I mean, what else am I doing anyway?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The situation was entirely beyond her control. She’d had to beg to protect the fucking <em>voice</em> she heard, a fragile girl that, even if it was another personality, she felt the same fierce protective instincts for that she felt toward <s>herself</s> Vista. To beg him, not to be her father, but to abide by the court’s eventual likely decision. To help the Protectorate continue to contain and study “Case 71”, formerly Sophia Hess. To make things easier on Terry and Tiara, if not on her stupid mom. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To pretend to be the father to the crying, scared, lonely girl locked inside her head. The one she’d locked there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia hated Danny Hebert. But she hated him for how kind he thought he was, not for anything else. It was too familiar a feeling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You act as if you’re the only one. That wasn’t my father. He knows it. He’s just pretending. He’s </em>
  <em>
    <strong>trying</strong>
  </em>
  <em>, but he’s pretending.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Oh, you think he doesn’t care about you?</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>He can’t. You know I exist. No one else does. They can pretend, but...you had a mental break, you became some girl you believe you hurt in your civilian identity. Not DID but a classic delusion nonetheless. To them, I exist to absolve you of guilt.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia scoffed, hitting the heavy bag again. Her knuckles were getting sore. She hoped Taylor was feeling the pain, the burn, the physical transference she was trying to effect. <strong>To them.</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>You don’t believe I exist,</em> Taylor said gently. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia nodded, blinking involuntarily. <strong>I’ve either lost my mind, I’m possessed, or we’re in this together. I can’t control any of this. No, I don’t believe you exist. Yes, I do care about you.</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sophia felt a lump in her throat. Merely subvocalization from the voices in her head. Nothing more. A flurry of jabs. <strong>I need you to not exist. I know I didn’t hurt someone so bad they retroactively stopped existing. I know that can’t happen. I know I’m more than capable of hurting someone until they trigger. Did I? You say I did. Is that a warning from my mind? Or a thing too late to take back?</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It’s whatever it is. I’m here now.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Hence why I need you to not exist. You’re a delusion. </strong>“Because,” she said out loud as she punched the bag hard enough to knock a grown man down, “I’m scared of myself!” She realized she had been shouting, and looked around the gym sheepishly. Luckily no one had seen her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Except the cameras. By the way, that makes two of us.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Fuck you.</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Madam Chief?” Jessica Yamada hated doing this. Every time. It was futile, and she knew how she’d react to what the Chief Director would tell her (she did every time), which was worse. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes?” Costa-Brown quirked a bemused eyebrow at her subordinate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not comfortable with this. Rapid custody modifications like this, while within the PRT’s legal authority on national security grounds, are highly destructive for normal, healthy children.” She shivered at the work “normal” was doing there, and continued. “For a parahuman asset whose criminal history, and thus our jurisdiction over her, is due to mental issues brought on, likely, by familial instability, it’s even less advisable. Now you want to remove such a child,” she liltingly emphasized the last word delicately enough to pretend she hadn’t emphasized it, but enough that she knew Costa-Brown would notice it, “from an institutional environment in which she’s been...improving, despite being placed there by court order, and place her with a man she has no connection to, one who <em>claims</em> to have her best interests at heart, even though this is impossible? Under what situation would this be anything other than criminally negligent, illegal, even actual child abuse?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Costa-Brown smiled sadly. “One where I want it done, I’m afraid. Although I understand your reservations, and I do appreciate them. Your continued support is the best you can do for the...child.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Costa-Brown out.” The video screen went blank, and Jessica silenced a scream of rage by biting her tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then she sent an email.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn Ives stretched lazily, then pulled both legs up under her butt and spun the chair around. When it had completed a full revolution, she cracked open her gas station blueberry crumble cappuccino and grinned. “I fuckin’ love this job.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her colleague, whose name she had mentally replaced with “Karen” on her first day, tutted disapprovingly. “Language.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is a gift from God. A tool to express the true self, to describe reality, to guard the innocent and punish the wicked. When I say I fuckin’ love this job it’s because I don’t lie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her colleague rolled her eyes. “‘Haku’ sent an email to the secure drop. Check it out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn’s eyes lit up with a predatory gleam. “Oooo boy.” She opened it, and her face fell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The pigs want to send another one upstairs. Sen rating of 9.5. May need to spirit away. Meet in person to discuss further.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Haku has never wanted to meet in person before. That would reveal their source, put the entire operation at risk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Karen said. “That’s why I let you handle it. Since you fuckin’ love this job.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn sighed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karen nodded. “You. Yesterday. Twice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn grinned. “Seems about right. But you do it for the kids, so…” She broke off. “Listen, I’ll be in mama bear mode for the rest of the week, probably. He’s never called an SA. I wonder what the fuck…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karen grimaced. “With Haku, don’t ask, don’t tell.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t help most of the actual <em>Wards</em> with their complete file and consent from all involved. Haku makes it <em>hard</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But his leads actually let us help, more than others. That’s why we keep him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, I don’t tell you this a lot. But you’re all right.” Caryn raised her coffee in a mock toast. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, kid.” Karen smiled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny hesitated, then stepped off the sidewalk to the stoop. The house was run down, with what appeared to be a recently replaced window. It put his home in perspective -- in that his home was somewhat well used but it was not a disaster. If this was how the residents cared for their property, no wonder their children were --</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He banished the thought. He had no idea where this was going to go, but it had to go somewhere. For the kids. He knocked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A beat. His breath fogged in the freezing air. Another beat. The door opened a crack, and the muzzle of a nine millimeter pistol poked out. “Who the fuck’s there?” a male voice said. Despite the bluster, the voice sounded young -- late teens, probably. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dan Hebert. I got your address from the, uh...the agency handling the case.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The fuck you talkin’ about, white boy? Agency? Case? What the fuck?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny sighed. “Sophia. Is Mrs Hess home?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy whistled through his teeth. “Aw shit. What’s she got herself into now? And no, she ain’t, but you can come in and wait for her.” The door opened wider, and a smiling young man offered him a hand. Danny shook it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not much I can discuss until Mrs Hess is home. You are…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Terry. I’m Soph’s big bro.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny nodded. The right thing had just become a lot harder to <em>find</em>, much less do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa frowned slightly, looking over the report. Particularly the EEG results. “This...shouldn’t be possible.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alexandria nodded stiffly. “I’m aware. There’s a reason I’m going to fight to get the girl under the LA Wards chain of command.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa shook her head. “I don’t see what direct supervision will help. The entity may want us to bring this curiosity closer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You suspect a trap.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suspect a tripping hazard in any dark room I can’t see into.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alexandria nodded. “At the very least. But there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to <em>model</em> her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That we know of. I don’t understand what I’m looking at, Rebecca. It bothers me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Two minds, one atop the other. The same brain.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa sighed. “That’s not what I mean. How? How is it a blind spot? How did it happen? How anything?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alexandria pursed her lips. “Accidents can happen, if we decide the risk outweighs the information gains.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa narrowed her eyes. “You can’t squash her like a <em>bug</em> simply because she complicates things. I mean, you <em>can</em>, but...for god’s sake, Rebecca. You’re too good a Thinker to want to do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rebecca smiled slyly. “I’m too good a thinker to make it as complicated as I would if I were using my Thinker hat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa nodded. “There is that. But...the best I can path right now is to not do anything until we know more.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That seems fair. Do you think if I made personal contact with the phenomenon…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa made an exasperated <em>whuff</em>. “Jesus, Becca. The <em>girl</em>. And no. Not yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine. I don’t like it. I don’t understand it, and we know damn near everything. It isn’t right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa shrugged. If Alexandria had made up her mind, there was nothing she could do. “I don’t like it either. There...is an asset there that owes us a favor?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alexandria smiled. “Ah, yes. If I know him he’s already noticed her, hasn’t he?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Contessa nodded, and Alexandria waved a hand. “Pursue that, then.” Then she stormed off, out of the office and down the hall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the room had cleared, Rachel remained. She stood in front of Lisa, arms folded, obviously angry. But a tense, upset, wary kind of angry. So...the usual. Except that she clearly wanted to talk. Lisa opened one eye from her attempt to meditate. <em>This</em> was noteworthy. “Rachel, hey. You usually clear out after these things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel ignored the pleasantries. Not that she expected any less. “That’s what it felt like,” she said simply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>This</em> was new. “What did?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When I...you know. Snapped. Went bitch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa sighed. “Triggered. What did it feel like?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Someone else in my head. Fuzz, mostly. No voices. No thoughts. Not like this Taylor thing. But same idea. Intrusion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa nodded. “It did, didn’t it? Mine’s a voice, but it’s....” <em>Reggie’s </em>“my voice. Not an invasion. But it’s not <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel began to pace. “How long did it take for people to die?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa understood what she was getting at. “A few months.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel shook her head. “Not with Stalker. Not if we recruit her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Average time from trigger to proximate fatality is far less than yours. Closer to Rachel’s. Her analysis is correct.</em> “The boss <em>did</em> leave us with another option. If we can’t recruit her, there’s a countermeasure power. A new trigger. We can recruit <em>her</em> instead. But it’ll make us both feel worse. I didn’t mention it, but since you came to me...I’ll let you decide.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I never get to decide.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You never want to. You’ve never spoken up.” Lisa smiled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fair. Tell me about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa told her about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel had seen puppies get mauled, before, tamed by other wild dogs. She’d used her power on puppies. She’d also seen what happened when you broke a dog to stop it from being upset. Especially when that dog was a natural fighter.  She didn’t like either choice. But she decided.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah Alcott had a headache. This is why she was at home, at one in the afternoon on a school day. However, this was not the only reason. She had a headache every day, now, of course. Entire universes blossomed behind her eyes, leaving stars and afterimages, halos of radiant pain. Then they disappeared, leaving dazed confusion, or, preferably, sleep. Nothing could chase them away. So school usually won out -- it was necessary, after all. How could you manage a power such as hers if you didn’t know the capital of Alaska, or long division, or how to spell February? Who would save the world, if Dinah didn’t zone out through lunch hour, holding a milk carton against her forehead and pretending she didn’t want to cry?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But finally, school was no longer necessary. As with most unpleasant fates, she had only been spared it with the promise of something worse. Usually it was a doctor’s appointment, or some stuffy event for her uncle, or a tonsillectomy -- today it was even worse than this. Today, the monsters were coming. And the two girls. And this was so that she could find more monsters, and two <em>other</em> girls. It was hazy. Unclear. Not like her uncanny ability to predict the lunch menu each day, or the winners of her father’s sports games he watched on TV. But it felt more...necessary. There was nothing she could do to prevent it, and she felt like a stick carried in a stream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah Alcott was a psychic Poohstick. It was awful. But the stream was all there was. She had choices to make, and she <em>could</em> control the outcome to an extent -- but it was mostly choosing which way the stick pointed, how many rocks it hit, and whether or not it broke into itty bitty pieces.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is why she was packing her bags. Soon, the bark of an unearthly dog would signal the beginning of the stream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The whole thing reminded her of something in her father’s books:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Heaven and earth are inhumane: they use the ten thousand things like straw dogs. And the sage too is inhumane: he uses the hundred-fold people like straw dogs.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah wasn’t sure if she was a straw dog or a sage. What scared her was that at the end, she was both. She knew that much. To change from one to the other must be like…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well. She chose to consider that it <em>must </em>be much like the Velveteen Rabbit. Whether she was the boy or the rabbit -- well, that was an unanswerable question. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her milk had already spilled. The Undersiders were coming. And to make sure that this <em>worked</em>, she could not allow herself to join them voluntarily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel puffed angry, hot frustrated breath into cold, indifferent air. She paced, her arms folded comfortably around herself in the hoodie and fur lined leather jacket. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You didn't tell the others," she said accusingly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, please." Lisa laughed lightly. "Do you honestly think this is the first time I've led from the front without involving the boys?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel huffed, seemingly ignoring this. Lisa had learned to read her non-verbal cues, though, and continued on with her thoughts, as much for her own benefit as anyone else's. "Brian would be okay with it, but claim to have principles. Alec would pretend to be okay with it, but he'd be upset someone was forcing a child to do something against their will. If we tell them, it'll all fall apart." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel growled softly. "Don't like it." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm well fucking aware. But you know the thing with Stalker won't work. It's a trap. We're trapped no matter what we do. We either let a murderous time bomb into the gang, with some other stuff <em>possibly </em>going on, and kidnap a Ward who's kind of a hot button right now, or we…I don't know yet."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"She's <em>eleven</em>," Rachel said hotly. "You said boss says to <em>make </em>her join. It’s <em>worse</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa shook her head. “It’s not better. Not the same as being worse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do we know there is a boss?” Rachel was, Lisa realized too late, furious. Her hand shifted in her pocket, causing the contents to bulge <em>just so</em>, and Lisa realized, too late, again, that Rachel had her palm closed around a snubnose revolver.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...which was now pointed at her head. “How do I know you don’t <em>want</em> to hurt a kid?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa remembered being eleven, being trapped under the accusing glares of morally responsible adults, being sure she’d get her hide tanned...knowing no amount of being spoiled could undo the feeling of being <em>trapped</em>. She knew Rachel, she knew what she’d been through. She knew there was no way to convince her of anything, once she’d decided. “All I really want is what I had for myself,” she said softly. Softly enough Rachel couldn’t hear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Predictably, Rachel leaned in close, angrily. “What? Talk louder.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa reached out to begin an aikido throw, that would allow her to take the gun, but she was interrupted in mid-movement by the sight of an eleven year old girl with a mussy brown bob and sleepy eyes, holding a suitcase in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. “Don’t try it,” the girl said. “She gets off two shots, usually, before you get the gun.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel looked at the girl, then back to Lisa, then showed an empty hand, trying to look innocent but clearly caught out and sheepish. “I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa sighed. “We’ll talk about that later.” She turned to the girl. “Hello, Dinah. What brings you out here tonight?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, Sarah --” Lisa caught a shocked inward breath that made her lungs hurt from its fierceness, and Rachel looked at her with a raised eyebrow -- “I could only see that this wasn’t going to go the way you wanted it to, and I had to figure out the best way to make that happen with nothing but my wits. So here I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah Alcott spread her arms. “Kidnap me, already. Make it quick. I’m starving.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Thunder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Self-hatred, but of who?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Me and my shadow,</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>None and two.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The city streets were dark, shot with grime and slippery with rain. Clutter fouled the slick, the detritus of a thousand lives in the aftermath of an Endbringer attack. A girl who did not exist -- but who had -- ran through the alleyways and avenues, in search of a girl who would not exist -- but who could. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor could not find her. The other girl was gone. What had her name been again? She stood in a tall tower, wondering how she had gotten here -- and looked across a city devoid of life. Alone. That’s what she was. Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia poked at her meal with a fork, avoiding Mr Hebert’s gaze. “I’m...trying. To accept what’s happening to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we all are.” Danny was not eating, merely watching her -- intent, careful, guarded. A thesaurus of excuses bristled within him, but Sophia knew. He was afraid of her. If not of her, the idea that someone could just -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>devour</span>
  </em>
  <span> an entire person, their wholeness, their memory, their warmth --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Sophia was, for her part, afraid of different things. That she had not devoured anyone at all, that she was merely insane. That she would not have the courage, when the time finally came, to --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Endbringer siren rang out again, a haunting wail across moors of glass and steel and concrete. Alone, the girl -- who did not know if she had ever had a name, but remembered being a full person at one time (how warm this felt, how she imagined a name must have tasted on her tongue) -- watched, looking for the signs of an attack.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“There’s no one here,” she said softly. “The last attack wiped everyone out. Why two in quick succession?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia bit down on a ravioli (raviolum? A piece of ravioli?) and considered her next words, thoughtfully. The softness gave way under her teeth, and red liquid emerged, warm and spicy-sweet. She swallowed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr Hebert.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled, beautiful, intimidating, dangerous, like shards of sunlight. “Danny is fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Danny, then,” she said, somewhat more sullenly than she had meant to. “I wonder if maybe I’m going insane. All this stuff about...what, another consciousness? Like possession or some kind of science fiction thing. And the eggheads think, like, I wiped out all </span>
  <em>
    <span>evidence</span>
  </em>
  <span> that this person exists? Or most of it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, considering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t it easier, doesn’t it make more sense, if I’m simply losing my marbles? Trauma or something, finally getting to me. Maybe I hit my head on one of our sorties, a while back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurmed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a sort of seismic growl boiling up like water in a pot. Then he smiled that enigmatic smile that she was beginning to think meant “I have no idea what I’m doing, haha”, and said. “It might make more sense. It might even be easier for both of us. But things...don’t make sense. That’s one thing you learn. Life is incomprehensible, after a fashion. That’s why so many people settle down to the day-to-day. Routines, wives, work -- it makes things make sense.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Fortune cookie bullshit. Might as well move in with my auntie and uncle in Bel-Air at this rate.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed. At her or at her joke, it almost made no difference. Her cheeks felt hot, her ears rang. “My wife was...very sad, distant, for a long time. She had found herself unable to do the thing she wanted most to do -- she was infertile, perhaps due to her miscarriage. The one we were calling Taylor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, listening. It didn’t seem relevant but stepdads were stepdads no matter the flavor. You let them talk. Let them make the moves. Let them assume. She hated that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing made sense. The simple medical facts are, you know, bodies break down all the time. Infertility is quite common. Those were </span>
  <em>
    <span>facts</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- facts aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very Zen.” Sophia rolled her eyes again. But she smiled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We had to make a meaning for ourselves, every day, whatever the facts were. We tried, but -- listen, I shouldn’t talk about her, not like this, not with a total stranger -- sorry -- but you’re the only person who even </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> right to talk about it with --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She cut him off, she hoped not too harshly. “It’s fine. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> I get it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He licked his lips. His voice lowered to a croak, with more bass than had been there a minute ago. “I don’t think it got through to her, I don’t think she was ever happy. I don’t think the day to day of just </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span> together made sense to her, the way it did to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stirred her ravioli to and fro on the plate, looking away from him. She could feel his lonely gaze searching, could tell he smelled her blood. Trailing behind her as she ran.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The new Endbringer was forty feet tall, and female. Looked it, anyway. Had the appearance of a tall, nearly Amazonian black woman -- possibly adolescent. A runner -- easily making sixty miles an hour over open ground. Her hair was pulled back in dreadlocks, her skin bare and shimmering like a heat distortion, glimmering like an oil slick, the appearance changing as the light played. In the city, there was again light -- but like that of a dying and distant star. Still, it was light. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor -- the rush of adrenaline had brought half her name back -- crouched behind a bush in the park, across the street from PRT headquarters. It was here that they would make their last stand, here that they would wage their final defense. Here that half of them would be lucky to escape alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She crouched, surrounded by a thick whirlwind of bugs, finger on the trigger of her crossbow. The ground rocked, as the runner approached. She leaned forward, trying to get a sight picture. A thought came to her. No one else was here. She was alone. Who was “they”?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you telling me this?” There was a kind of adamantine bitterness in her challenge. A refusal to let him use intimacy as a crutch, to replace </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this insipid </span>
  <em>
    <span>widowed</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of feeling, this sentimentality he was enacting on her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to do better. That’s where I come in, is I want to make things better for someone that isn’t me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “Anyone, so long as it isn’t you, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her in surprise. “I hadn’t really...thought about it that way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Most people don’t. So. If it turned out that I was just insane, I’m just a big fat mess, Taylor is nothing but a delusion, that’s where you disappear, right? Do you stay? Do you feel like I tricked you? What happens then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny stroked his beard, remembering the long briefings he’d been required to sit through to even get to this point. “I’m still here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him, a sort of incredulous gaze giving way to a playful smile. “Naw. Why? What’s in it for you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know yet.” Danny sighed. “Sometimes you find out together.”</span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She didn’t need to think, the response merely flung itself loose, propelled by the sling of her tongue over the battlements of her teeth. “Not good enough. You visited my family, you have an angle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny sighed again, deeper. He sounded tired. “I believe that something happened. Something remarkable, something unknown to the smartest people in the room. I’ve seen their faces when they talk about it, I’ve heard them explain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sophia. Of a teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder and a fairly mild power set. Did you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She swallowed. “I didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why. I don’t understand what they see that I don’t. But I want to protect you. From them, Give you someone who actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- your mother </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but…” He trailed off, civility and consideration for her feelings reinforcing the shields he kept against honesty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Sophia said coldly. “Fuck her if she won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m doing what I can, but she kicked me out of the house the other day. Terry was all right, though. He may visit soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m thrilled.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled. “Anyway...I need to protect you. From my daughter, if it comes to that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widened, and met his directly. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t know what she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>made</span>
  </em>
  <span> of, how her mind will affect yours. You’re already showing some serious stress from...trying to integrate her. They worry. I worry. I hope we worry about the same things, but I don’t think we do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Endbringer raised a foot, and quickly stomped, as if squashing a bug. Glass shattered. The spine of that building should have impaled its foot like the tines of a fork, but it crumpled like noodles instead. Taylor gasped. She suddenly felt as if she needed to be somewhere else. Trauma dissociation, probably. You couldn’t look at something like that and keep your wits about you, you just </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>couldn’t</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. Too much...too much.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All right.” Sopha took a deep breath. “You’ve been honest with me, and I appreciate it. And I guess the truth is, I have trouble being honest with myself. So I had to work on that, while you were talking.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “I’m listening.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your daughter. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.” The venom in the word surprised even her. The sibilant, the hard consonant, like a bullet rushing past her head into a wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My life was beginning to be normal -- not, like, really normal, you know? But as stable and not overtly fucked up as it was ever going to be. And then -- her. She says I did things to her...I don’t remember doing them, she hates me for doing them -- if I had, I would too. But I didn’t, and here she is to blame me for them, living inside me, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>experts</span>
  </em>
  <span> all have some agenda about it…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He swallowed. “I understand, I think. As much as I can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She slammed her fork down, taking a larger than necessary drink from her glass of water. She almost coughed, then she recovered herself. “And she’s afraid of me, and I’m afraid of her, and we hide from each other, and -- it’s not neat, it’s not pretty. You’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>steal me from my mother</span>
  </em>
  <span> and people who would as soon burn me alive to stop the ‘bad guys’ are going to help and I’m...frighteningly okay with it...and I hate her for how much she’s done to me and how much her cowardice about the whole thing is rubbing off on me, and…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her, concerned, but waited for her to speak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you even be </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me if I hate your da...hate Taylor? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She recoiled in shock, having almost not heard the last, very faint word, as it came out of her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny nodded, eyes unreadably complex. “Of course I will. I don’t need to understand your situation to understand why you’d feel that way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She breathed a sigh of relief. “This ravioli is actually pretty good, you know? Usually the PRT kitchen sucks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled. “I bet it still sucks. I made it myself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at her new adult in surprise. “Whoa.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Above them, the unblinking, silent eye of a hidden camera captured this first step toward family...just as it had everything else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Ender had her. One hand under her butt, the other gripping her neck between finger and thumb, it picked her up -- forty feet up -- and put her on its shoulder. “What do you want?” Taylor asked. The urge to fight the thing was strong, but her mind told her her body’s urges would have no effect. So why waste effort?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>TO PROTECT YOU, it thundered. And yet Taylor did not think she had heard a voice at all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I...didn’t actually expect a response. But okay...from what?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FROM ME.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess.” She relaxed, finding herself falling asleep, somehow. This made as much sense as everything else, and she let the giant’s surprisingly gentle touch lull her, its rhythmic steps over a ruined world taking her she knew not where.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Lightning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>So you hate me</em>. I scrubbed myself firmly, running the abrasively soft loofah over my shoulders, armpits, neck. Chasing an itch I couldn’t quite feel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s mutual, isn’t it?” I said out loud. No one was listening, anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence. I continued scrubbing. The hot water felt hotter. The itch still felt real, but I could place its actual physical location <em>less</em> accurately than before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well? Don’t make me talk to myself, I’m not a crazy person.” I shook my head. “Don’t know about you,” I added.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I’m thinking about it. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Didn’t think it would be that hard to decide.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Neither did I.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God damn it.” I threw the loofah at the wall, where it <em>flumpfed</em> off the tile unconvincingly. “I hate you because you are so goddamn sympathetic. I hate you because I don’t like not having a choice. I hate you because I don’t like not knowing <em>why</em> I’m not allowed to not like you, not want to protect you. Is it genuine? Is it some quirk of my nervous system?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Do you suppose for one second that I like not being able to freely hate </em>
  <em>
    <strong>you</strong>
  </em>
  <em>?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hadn’t thought about that. Damn you for making this so complicated.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stood in silence with myself, pacing a little in the limited shower space. I was tired of being an experimental subject, tired of not knowing when I’d see the outside of the Wards wing again. Tired of not knowing myself, and tired of not knowing my <em>other</em> self.</p>
<p><br/>
I was frustrated in the extreme. Danny’s words had scared me -- protecting me from his daughter, and from these “very powerful people”. Who did he mean? <em>What</em> did he mean?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Let’s use some deductive reasoning there</em>, my inner voice said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m listening.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>They know what happened to you, which means they’re part of PRTate structure.</em> My inner voice was using internal jargon fluently, which was either a good or a bad sign. I suppose it made sense that <em>I </em>knew as much as I did. But I suppose that bothered the people Danny had mentioned, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Precisely</em>, this new inner voice said. She was calm, calculating, methodical. Cool. The flat of my blade. It scared me that I could be...like this, so easily, so suddenly. Had I been added to? Changed? Or had parts of me which had always been there simply been...allowed?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Why can’t our answer be yes? </em>Before I could think about that, the cascading yet methodical thoughts continued, carrying me like a branch in a stream. <em>So they didn’t cancel M/s procedure because you’re </em><em><strong>clear</strong></em><em>. They canceled it because it makes no difference. They can kill you or accept the damage done.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nodded, moving to my legs from my stomach, scrubbing a bit more gently now. <em>The long showers are a me thing</em>, I thought independently. <em>They were something I valued...before. You didn’t, admit it.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I, my own person, who had not transmogrified into a nerdy white girl overnight, did not admit this. I had always liked hot showers. I had always had independent thoughts, all my own. Yeah.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>And how is the war against Eastasia going?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Swimmingly,” I said aloud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My mental self <em>smirked</em>. <em>Okay then</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sighed loudly. “Anyway, you were saying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I was saying that they know something you don’t. That almost no one does. They have </em>
  <em>
    <strong>no</strong>
  </em>
  
  <em>
    <strong>reason</strong>
  </em>
  <em> to treat you like anything other than someone who suddenly sprouted up a second personality. None. Unless they know something that is both unique, interesting and relevant.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I chewed my lip. “Like what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Let’s backtrack. You represent, you’ve been told, an intriguing and as-yet unobserved phenomenon in consciousness studies, correct?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I started washing my hair again, for good measure.It wasn’t like I had anywhere to be today. “Correct, I think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>By?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I chewed on that. And on my lip. Fingers teasing my dreads. Shampoo bubbling up, like the realization I was coming to. The thing I hated about the voice, that it didn’t share with Danny, was that it wanted me to feel smart. And all its coaching did was make me feel dumb. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You’re not, though. Who by?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I snapped my wet fingers. “The PRT. Which means that the consciousness thing has something, somehow, to do with powers. Otherwise they wouldn’t care.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A <em>nod</em>. I thought further, my mind racing. It felt like it was creaking, but I didn’t mind. Things were occurring to me, that hadn’t before. That might not have, before <em>her</em>. Something had changed in my mind, in my sense of self, in my estimation of my own ability.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I spoke louder than usual, animated, quickening my pace as I went. “If they really actually thought I was a stupid obstacle, they wouldn’t tell me <em>shit</em>. Business as fuckin’ usual. But they <em>did</em> fill me in. Which means either my participation in whatever they’re doing is important, or that me <em>knowing</em> while they <em>do</em> is important.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Correct.</em> The second self beamed approval. I didn’t know if I liked that I liked its approval. <em>But there’s something else. They have a very manipulative view of...us, of our social and familial bonds. So there is a large risk to any attempt to become more than an unconscious subject of their plans.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got that, believe me. I got that before we ever <em>met</em>.”</p>
<p><br/>
<em>I understand. So we can find out which one we are -- dupe or partner -- very easily. Would you like to find out how?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I growled, but playfully. “You enjoy being a manipulative bitch, I get it. But stop monologuing, o supervillain. What’s the plan?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>She</em> explained.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Dinah waited, arms spread. Lisa regarded her with disdain and skepticism. “You’re a Thinker, I’m a Thinker. Don’t be so goddamn obvious, kid.”</p>
<p><br/>
Dinah opened and closed her mouth a few times before speaking. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa smirked, her voice turning to a mocking imitation of Dinah’s own. “Hurhur, I’m a thinker, I bet if I make them think it was my idea, I can manipulate them into something! That’ll work <em>great</em>, I bet no one on the Undersiders is a thinker too!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah’s cheeks flashed hot, more at the mocking tone than the implication that Lisa had <em>figured her out</em>. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Maybe I’m just giving you rope. After all, perhaps getting you to think you’ve seen through my idea to make my idea your idea is how I convince you my <em>real </em>idea is...your idea.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa looked at her, a myriad of expressions rotating across her face as her brain slowly rebooted. “Yeah, but who’s on first?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just used my last remaining brain cells to make sure I was saying that right. Like I’d seen it. Can we go? I need a nap.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was now Lisa’s turn to work her mouth in confusion -- and in some distress. She did <em>not</em> like what her power was telling her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel scoffed, openly brandishing the revolver in her palm before placing it back in her jacket pocket. “Babies. Confusing babies. ‘No you’ is how <em>babies</em> fight. I’m going home.” She whistled, and three...dinosaurs? It wasn’t clear, even if Dinah knew, somehow, that they were dogs...cantered toward them, panting merrily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m going too, then. Hold your stuff tight, don’t lose it, but do as I do,” Lisa said, climbing up on the back of a dog.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah looked at the <em>enormous</em> dog in front of her. “I could barely climb up with two hands. Only just. I can’t put my bags on the back of it,” she said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, think fast. The boss will buy you whatever you need. We’re pulling out -- this was all your idea, wasn’t it? All going according to plan, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinah didn’t like being flummoxed. She didn’t like it at all. “<em>Fine</em>,” she spat. She tossed the suitcases to the ground, and, grabbing the dog with both hands, managed to <em>just</em> pull herself up. She held its mane tightly, gripping the leathery carapace of its body with her legs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You didn’t see that coming at all?” Lisa was back in form, her mocking, beaming, exulting grin enjoying Dinah’s confusion and distress a <em>bit much</em>, thank you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The problem was, she was right. “I didn’t look closely enough.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lisa’s reply surprised her more than anything else had so far. “Oh.” She closed her mouth, and said no more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rachel snorted. “You’re all stupid. Angelica, Brutus, Judas, <em>home</em>!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Carol pulled her desk chair closer to the computer, turning on her webcam. In the living room, she could hear Amy and Vicky bickering, about god knows what. No matter. This business was <em>far</em> more important, and she didn’t know quite why. She just had a very bad feeling about <em>all</em> of it. That was perhaps -- she hoped -- something her remaining best friend from college could be of help with. She selected the Zoom app from the wheel, and then from a smaller wheel, a contact to call. QCALL, it read, in the same format it had since an eight-character limit on filenames. Since contacts had had <em>files</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took a second to establish a connection, wheels spinning within wheels on her screen and in her head alike. Then -- <em>he wasn’t wearing a shirt, </em><em><strong>typical</strong></em><strong>. </strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A roguish, slightly perverted smirk greeted her. “Carol! How good to see you. Is everything all right with the kids?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’re...kids.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smirked harder, infuriatingly. It had once been charming, now it was merely tiresome. “Is Amy still...<em>napping</em>?” He wiggled his eyebrows.</p>
<p>She sighed, exasperated. “Quinn, her father died and we adopted her. You <em>know</em> this, you were involved with the legal meetings, back then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quinn Calle ran his fingers through his long, slick hair. “I know. I recommended the unmasking policy after advising against the...the incident in which her father <em>became deceased</em>. And I haven’t been really active in New Wave meetings since, have I? Even though I am <em>on the board</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol sighed again, harder. He was truly a tiresome little man. Did he not understand the sacrifices she’d made to get here? “You never ask about Mark. Always ‘the kids’.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>You</em> never ask about Mark,” he retorted smoothly. “And it’s always ‘your daughter and the girl’ for you, ‘the kids’ for me. I simply wish to limit the things we fight about. I do value your friendship, Carol.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded. “So do I.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighed. “Jesus, no wonder Annie hated us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol raised a hand, in a reflexive and practiced motion, now muscle memory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quinn’s lip quirked upward. “Objection?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looked at her hand. “Uh, yeah. How long have I been doing that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Since the uh, third mock trial, back when we were 1Ls. It never gets old.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded. “Anyway, yes, <em>your dishonor</em>, objection.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiled. “Continue.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She didn’t hate <em>us</em>. She did her own thing, and she was going to join. Before the accident. I didn’t tell you, because she...before I could.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah.” He considered this. “I think she hated you, Carol. She stopped seeing you, after Amy joined your family. And as I said, no wonder. We are a <em>mess</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol didn’t want to think about that. “Anyway, Quinn, that’s all uncomfortably close to why I called. But I just need one favor, for now. I’ll tell you more, later, all right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quinn nodded. “One of your games. All right, color me intrigued.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I need you to get me in touch with Simon.”</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes. “Carol, you’re a fucking lawyer. How have you alienated half of your own <em>board</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighed. “I just <em>have</em>. Tell him it’s something he’d find interesting.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quinn smiled, looking back toward the camera. He’d clearly been focusing on the screen and typing. “Email already sent. Anything else?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She felt -- no. Too late. And too little. She shook her head. “No, thank you. See you again.” Carol closed the call.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Caren,” Karen said. She put a coffee down on the desk -- blueberry crumble, going by the smell. Her favorite. Caren beamed up at her, gratitude evident. She took the cup, warmed her hands for a moment, and then sipped cautiously. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a moment of pure, unadulterated, electric zen, she spoke. “Yeah? I can see you trying to bribe me, there. It won’t work, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karen laughed. “It already has.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caren nodded, taking another sip. Longer and larger, this time. Louder, too. “Right. That’s why. Anyway, what’s up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you’ve been obsessed with the files Haku sent over.”</p>
<p><br/>
“The girl,” Caryn corrected. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karen sighed, conceding the attachment on her partner’s part. It was what gave her the strength, the motivation to help so many kids. She cared, probably too much. Which was not good in this case. Slowly, deliberately, readying herself for a firestorm, she spoke. “I got an email from Calvert. We are to assist with all haste to transfer Sophia Hess to the Los Angeles Wards.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn’s face turned white -- then her eyes flashed, her jaw set. “Are you coming or not?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karen shook her head. “You need deniability. Good luck out there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Caryn grinned wolfishly. “I make my own.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she left at a run, Karen shook her head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Then she sent the email to Haku. It was too late to pull out, now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t like this plan,” I said, rinsing my hair, even though it was pointless now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You love it. You just have trouble admitting it.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My hand was already shaking. “What if I don’t wake up,” I asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I guess that’s the way the cookie crumbles. It’s a risk. You love risk.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nodded. “You know me <em>too</em> well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>If you don’t go through with it, you’ll just be a wet blanket. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I nodded grimly. “Better to be a wet electric blanket, at least.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>We’re a scream.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s...kind of the issue.” I shoved my soaking wet hand into the wall, and felt around. The main for the bathroom ought to be about...there, yeah. That should do it. I closed my hand, like I was squashing a bug.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>We</em> were a scream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Hard Reset</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>OUCH!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When she came to in the shower, slowly opening her eyes, sitting up, rubbing her head, checking for bruises and broken bones (burns were a given, even with her powers) -- Taylor Hebert was surprised to remember just how much bodies could hurt sometimes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a rental,” she grunted, sitting up, opening the shower curtain. A risk had been that they would attract attention, possibly falling and crying out, even requiring medical aid. Sophia had been aware, she was sure (the other girl was not dumb) that paralysis was on the table. Luckily, that had been avoided. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I driving? What’s up with that? Also why the fuck can’t I see? Don’t your eyes work?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Taylor ran her fingers through her hair, which had been straightened </span>
  <em>
    <span>considerably</span>
  </em>
  <span> by the electricity. Hm, interesting, that. Was she -- no. The mirror indicated that this was most definitely still Sophia Hess’s body. Blurrily, and foggily, but distinctly nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia? Hello?</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was no response. She had not considered this possibility. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia, answer me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The next words came reluctantly, although she supposed they came easier than they would have for the other girl. “Please be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yet there was no answer, and she needed to move. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was relying on you </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>being</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> here. I can’t navigate the Wards facility without you. I don’t know the routines, I’m adrift here. WAKE UP!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She put on her gray sweatsuit, government issue, feeling the scratchy softness she had come to value above most other sensations, the itch most like herself. She stretched, taking a few exploratory steps down the hall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia, we used to be able to see better than this. What the hell is going on?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the receiving area at the end of the hall, there was some sort of commotion. Colin -- she had to try to </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember</span>
  </em>
  <span> his name, it did not come with the liquid familiarity it had when Sophia was present -- was gruffly, stiffly, arguing with a woman in a black trenchcoat with pink accents and blond hair, also with pink accents. Taylor made to move closer to the pair, but a hand met her forearm. She looked up, and Miss -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hannah </span>
  </em>
  <span>-- met her eyes, emerging from a nook in the wall. “There’s been a misunderstanding about your status, Sophia. Armsmaster is working on resolving it, so don’t worry. For now, step into my office, please?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, following quietly. Something was up, the vibes on this were “my locker smells funny” levels of hinky. Oddly enough, she might have an advantage if they didn’t know who she really was right now. So best to not rock the boat and obtain information, gradually.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up?” she ventured, quietly. They entered Militia’s office, and the older woman beckoned to a chair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit.” She thought better of this abruptum, apparently, and added, “please”.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sophia” folded her arms and mugged defiantly. “What if I’d rather stand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Suit yourself.” Militia sat down on the other side of the desk. “Are you having vision problems? You’re squinting quite badly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m fine,” “Sophia” said, having a stomach-churning realization that this is what it was like to be Sophia all the time. Poor girl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I really hope I didn’t kill you. Hello??!!! ANYONE?!!!!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia nodded. “I see. Can I get you anything? A snack, something to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Taylor thought that she would very much like a Coke or some other cold beverage, but she decided that Sophia would appear above such things in this situation. “No thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay, Sophia. There’s no good way to say this, but I’ve recently received an email from Deputy Director Calvert. As you know, he handles Ward development personally as often as he can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “I did know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Militia smiled. “You would probably not have gotten this far without his support. Which, unfortunately --” she sighed and pursed her lips “--is why I need to take his recommendations seriously. There’s an opening on the Los Angeles Wards, and he thinks it would be best for you to be transferred there. Alexandria often offers personal mentorship to the Wards there, and it would be a huge benefit to your career.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>SOPHIA I NEED YOU TO WAKE THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON’T BE DEAD RED ALERT HEY HEY HEY </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Um...what about my mom?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia regarded her carefully. “What about her?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t just move me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>the other coast</span>
  </em>
  <span> without her permission, can you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia shook her head. “You signed the forms waiving her custody yesterday. How can you not remember that? I swear, Sophia, sometimes your sheer lack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door. Militia looked up with a start. “Private meeting, Wards business. Go away.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I most certainly did not,” Taylor said, in a very Taylor-like fashion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>SOPHIA SERIOUSLY WE GROW MORE FUCKED BY THE SECOND COME ON OR WE’LL NEVER SEE MY DAD AGAIN</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The emptiness she felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>echoed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sophia was gone. Everything was ruined.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Caryn Ives, Youth Guard, PUBLIC interest, Wards business. Do I need to kick the fucking door down?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed. “Listen, I’m having a privileged conversation with the Ward. Please wait.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Whose privilege?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia looked at her, surprised by something. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whose secrets are being kept? Whose rights does the conversation protect?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia didn’t respond immediately, which for Taylor was response enough. “Let her in, please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia’s mouth flattened in distaste. “Fine.” She stood up to open the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn Ives barged in like an overcaffeinated raver, shaking her fist in Militia’s face. “You’ll regret that little stunt.” Militia had no reply.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor saw her advantage, and took it. “I would like my lawyer to be present, please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn sputtered. “She has a lawyer?!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia nodded. “Should she not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn, now, was at a loss. “Well..no, just -- why were we not informed?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor folded her arms and watched the two argue, marveling at how easily Sophia’s detachment and distrust came to her now. Was this what it had always been like for the other girl? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon Bartzabel reclined in the luxurious bucket seat of his private plane, bobbing his head to synthesized, poppy, yet ominous beats. He scrolled idly through Twitter, noting that the President was his usual self, only moreso, when accented by Legend in a photo op. It was a compelling conundrum -- why did bluster and braggadocio come easily to a president, but not to a well-loved near-demigod? Then again, he wondered if Legend knew everything that Simon himself knew. That was the crux of it -- if you knew all of that, it rather shaved off the braggadocio very closely. Unless you knew, as Simon himself did, that your cause was just and the things you had to live with at night </span>
  <em>
    <span>necessary</span>
  </em>
  <span> for human flourishing. Did Legend know that? Did he believe it, even if he knew it?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which of the men was Simon more like? The thought kept him awake, more now than before. The pot-stirrers were nearly ready to start their first test of the parahuman feudalism thing they’d been planning. It was nearly time to act. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Project Deep Core was Simon’s brainchild, his passion project, his baby. Conceived in the early 70s by better and brighter minds (brain-grandchild? Aw, feck, forget it -- wordplay was for wankers -- and no, he was not a wanker, no matter what Quinn said), it had taken the existence of capes in stride. The goal, after all, was a truly better tomorrow, regardless of the changes in society over decades -- and the changes had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> all been bad. His father had handed it over to him after he got out of college -- after his friendship with Quinn had lost him the rest of the inheritance. It was a black project for a black sheep, and it had quickly been obvious to him that the Triumvirate and their pot-stirring shadows were his opposite number.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But if you tried to build a better world in defiance of people whose plan was to destroy the world in order to save it, you quickly realized something rather awful. You only did so because they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>letting</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. They’d seen everything -- and so the fact that they’d gotten to Brockton Bay and the curiously roiling microbiome of that city’s rancid gut </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> meant that they had potentially, quite probably, even, led him to it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This “Coil” fellow smelled like a trap. But Simon was unpowered -- the shadows he called the “pot-stirrers” were </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> the only place to buy powers, so he had not. This was, in actual fact, a thing that you could do. Not merely a myth. And Coil had bought their powers. He said “their” because his intelligence was maddeningly unclear -- was Coil a man or a woman?:Adult or teenage? Law-abiding or criminal? He’d heard both, and he suspected one was a leak. But which one? Hence, the obvious trap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What did you do with traps? You sprung them, of course. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A text tone jolted Simon from his reverie. He looked down at his phone. “Aw, feck.” He tapped the wall intercom, and the pilot’s voice responded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir?” An Australian accent twanged softly over a mixture of cockpit beeping, radio chatter and engine noise. Reg Bronson was an old warhorse -- he considered himself, against logic and reason, a native Rhodesian, despite being so Australian he might as well be upside down. But he was a good pilot, and a better friend. Simon had long since stopped caring where he got people, so long as he got them. That was how you </span>
  <em>
    <span>built</span>
  </em>
  <span> core cadres, especially deep ones. You didn’t prejudge. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Divert to Brockton Bay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>on the double</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mr Musk’ll have to wait.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“New Wave business, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like it. Which is less than ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood, sir.” The plane banked sharply, and they were now pointed at the other side of the world. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon leaned back in his seat and put his headphones back on, changing his music from this “synthwave” stuff the kids were into to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ride of the Valkyries</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tattletale had left Rachel alone with the new kid, apparently trusting her to guard against an escape attempt. But that was what was apparent -- Rachel knew better. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She thinks I’m stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too stupid to let the kid use me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel watched as the new girl -- Dana, maybe? She forgot -- paced back and forth, studying her surroundings carefully. She looked a little green. The ride did that to people, sometimes, especially if they weren’t used to it. “Angelica likes you,” she said gently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that her name? I couldn’t tell who was who,” Dinah said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel grunted in assent. “This one’s Brutus --” she indicated her own dog “-- and Lisa there rode on Judas.” She waved her hand expansively, sweeping from one dog to the other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. You don’t like Lisa.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel smiled thinly. “She doesn’t like either of us, so I’d say it’s even.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t take you for a schemer,” Dinah said carefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well.” Rachel grunted in open disgust. “I didn’t take Lisa for someone who’d involve kids your age.” She kicked angrily at the dirt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I also thought you’d be taller, so don’t act like I know anything,” Dinah said. Then she giggled. “People say that, in movies and stuff, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. My thing is funny sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your power.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah nodded. Rachel seemed like a listener, so she kept talking. “I have to look closely, sometimes, or I miss details, but I basically know everything. It’s...a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel snorted. “Impossible, you’ve gotta be bluffing. I’m not stupid, even if she thinks I am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah glowered. “It should be impossible. But clearly it isn’t. I don’t know if I’m an exception, or what, but…” She trailed off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel reached down and put a hand on Dinah’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Never mind. Friends?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah smiled. “Friends,” she said. After all, she reasoned, the only thing she couldn’t do was join the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Undersiders</span>
  </em>
  <span> willingly. Nobody had said she wasn’t allowed to make friends.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thomas Calvert regarded Carol Dallon -- Brandish -- coolly. She stood protectively in front of Sophia Hess, her stance almost that of someone prepared for physical combat. But she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> that tense, that paranoid, that..distressed. If she wasn’t an adversary and an obstacle alike, he might feel sorry for her. “You must know that opposing the Triumvirate on this is a losing battle. It’s probably best for your client that you simply advise her to go along with their desires.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffed. “I’ll advise my client, not you, thank you very much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn Ives of the Youth Guard stood behind Hess, holding her phone vertically. A light indicated she was recording. “Don’t mind me. I have a legal </span>
  <em>
    <span>obligation</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get this entire mess on video, for archival purposes if nothing else. But if I get fired somehow? Shit goes on YouTube.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed in frustration for what felt like the hundredth time that hour alone. Hopefully soon she grew even more tired of Ives’ nonsense than Calvert was, and blew her brains out with some kind of green Magnum Research pistol or something. That would be quite the sight, he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If only she didn’t have her scruples...one almost tingles at the possibilities.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No one’s going to fire you today,” she said tiredly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I say I was deleting this video today?” Caryn smiled, too smugly for Thomas’s liking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia sighed. “No, no you didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, I don’t care about the Youth Guard’s interference or what it wants, Ms Dallon. My purpose here is to come to an accommodation that satisfies your client. Are you willing to work with me on that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She nodded. “So what satisfies my client is the following, In writing, before we leave your office, a document rescinding her transfer orders and assuring a personal meeting with Alexandria. Additionally, we require copies of the document Protectorate representatives claim she signed yesterday.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia thought about this. She normally would have been present for such a momentous occasion for Sophia, wouldn’t she have? She looked to Sophia, gauging her reaction. Then she leaned toward the girl, and whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me you signed those?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia looked at her angrily. “I told you! I didn’t sign anything yesterday! You didn’t believe me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia was beginning to realize she had made a grave mistake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Deputy Director,” she said, “I’ll need to see those papers as well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was at this point that Thomas decided it was time for some brief recreation. He created a pocket timeline, pulling a pistol from inside his jacket. He then fired, striking Militia in the forehead, and jumping over the table nimbly to grab the infuriating Ives bitch by the lapel, in preparation for --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” an unfamiliar voice said. Caught by surprise, he looked up. There, where Sophia Hess had once stood, was a shimmering, staticky form, one he did not recognize. A tall, reedy, coltish white girl, with black, flowing, straight hair, a froglike wide mouth, and eyeglasses. “This is most unexpected. Being here, mostly. But you shooting Militia and whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is --” she indicated the way he was pressed tightly against Ms Ives “--uh, yeah. That too. So are you a parahuman, or?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He fired again, killing the girl, then hurriedly dropped the timeline. When he returned, Sophia Hess stood there again, squinting and defiant, arms folded. But her defiance was an act, and he had literally seen through it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You’re going to have to fill me in on what just happened,</b>
  <span> Sophia said, somehow back in her own head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All of herself was exultant, electric. </span>
  <em>
    <span>OMIGOD! You’re back! Are you all right? I thought you were dead!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I feel all kinds of fried, thanks very much, but...yeah, I’m fine. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good. If you don’t mind?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I do not.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia stepped aside, this time voluntarily and without incident.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Sorry, I uh...kinda spaced out there. Did anyone die while I was gone?</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>The look on Calvert’s face was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> worth the potential fallout.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Fait Accompli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I coolly regarded Thomas Calvert as he carefully thought through his reply. I didn’t get a chance to become Taylor again, so I assume he was not using whatever that power was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Being someone else weirded me out. Even if Taylor wasn’t “someone else”, she sure felt like she was. And what was worse was the way he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>forced</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to be “myself” -- this did not sit well with me, it was too </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like everything else about us, it was a paradox.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Miss Hess. No one died,” he finally said, fingers steepled carefully. “Generally these sorts of meetings do not result in fatalities of any kind. Unless there’s something you’d like to share with us?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> how he wanted to play it? My mouth twitched upward, briefly, and I said “</span>
  <span>Weeeelllll, there </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be, but I don’t know if I should?</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “This is a safe space. You can tell us anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> reason he would say that is if this was a whole entire trap, so of course I did not. Instead of saying “</span>
  <span>he got rapey with Caryn there and shot Miss Militia in an alternate timeline, and I saw the whole thing,</span>
  <span>” which would have caused a whole firestorm of shit, I said “no, I have nothing to add at this time, thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>See, I can think through outcomes and make choices based on alternatives, too. I just don’t get a free pass for rape and murder and saying stupid things, if I pick those options. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That is not how I remember it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sister-self says in my head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Yeah, well, it’s how it is now.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert nodded. “All right then. Now. The papers Ms Hess signed are right here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slid a manila folder across the table, where Caryn intercepted it before Miss Militia could reach it. “Um, okay. First of all, this isn’t really how custody relinquishment works,” she said. Then, upon a knowing look from both Calvert and Militia, she said, “for unpowered wards of the state. It’s also not </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> how it works even for Wards, capital double you. Her mother’s signature isn’t on this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert interjected. “It doesn’t need to be. Wards have many options and privileges for escaping abusive or neglectful situations not available to other children in the same positions.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, he was good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I hated him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know I’m occasionally somewhat impulsive, sure, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign these without knowing what they were. Can I see?” I held out my hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Caryn said, handing me the file.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I looked it over. “That is my name, sure. It’s how I’d write it. But I have no memory of signing this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert shook his head. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. You’ve mentioned memory difficulties, haven’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snorted. “I have not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia spoke. “They </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> part of the diagnostic criteria for Dissociative Identity Disorder, so perhaps…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rudely and forcefully interrupted this. “</span>
  <span>Then perhaps I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder. But if you’re implying that you believe I was not competent to sign these at the time I signed them, perhaps we can consider them invalid and move on to other matters?</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn reached over and fist-bumped me. “You’re a smart one,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>We have our moments,</span>
  <span>” I said. “</span>
  <span>And Alexandria’s interest is appreciated, even if the reasons behind it aren’t fully understood.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert raised an eyebrow. “We? And Sophia, this level of eloquence hasn’t been part of our previous meetings.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Did he just “well-spoken” me?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Looks that way to me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My dad does a lot of business meetings.” I smiled at this. It felt good to say, and better to mean. Taylor’s experiences had given us the mannerisms and ways of speaking I was using, but that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my dad</span>
  </em>
  <span> now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert raised an eyebrow. “Miss Militia, I had not been aware her father was in the picture.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia shook her head. “The individual who’s supposedly connected to the Taylor Hebert persona. They’ve grown attached.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn held up a hand. “Wait, hold up. This guy wasn’t in the file, either. I’ll need to meet him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Militia thought about this. “I can’t authorize a meeting with a prospective guardian without the child’s permission. You’d know this if you were kept up with policy, Ms…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ives.” Caryn glared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Caryn, you really should meet my dad. He’s pretty cool.” I smirked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn fist-bumped me again. “These people suck, kid. Should I call you Sophia? Taylor? Does it depend?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I...didn’t know. “Sophia for now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “Right on, Sophia. So. You two.” She indicated the adults in the room with an accusing finger. “You’ve done nothing but undercut Ms Dallon’s client when it suits you, and claim that all efforts to do so are ‘in her best interest’. I think we’re done here, mainly because this level of condescension makes me want to puke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carol nodded. “I concur. We’ll be petitioning for a full withdrawal from the Wards program, given what I’ve seen here. It’s not a good environment for </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> client.” She smiled at Caryn, who of course smiled back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Calvert raised a contemptuous eyebrow again. He was so easy to read when you knew how. “Her value as an asset to the Protectorate has increased considerably -- you may find that that’s a difficult proposition.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shrugged. “I thought I had multiple personalities or some shit. Which is it? That? Or am I a valuable asset? You can’t have it both ways.” I met his eyes with the last sentence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, meeting mine with equal steel. “I see you,” the gaze said, but I’d seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so I didn’t know what he expected. “Alexandria wants to be able to make a final determination on that, personally. Either way, I intend to find a satisfactory outcome.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn shook her head. “Nope, sorry. I will literally have the Secretary of Parahuman Affairs on the phone before five, if I have to, but this goes no further for now. Understand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol picked up that thread. “Right now there’s a Youth Guard welfare stay on proceedings related to the custody of Sophia Hess and the parahuman persona of Shadow Stalker. This level of misconduct is appalling when it’s cloaked better than it is here. You should be ashamed, Deputy Director.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have no idea,” I said, meeting Calvert’s eyes again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I have some idea. You’re all dismissed.” Calvert appeared to be frantically texting someone under the table. I looked to the adults, and as a group, we all made our exit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After the door had closed, I looked at Carol. “What’s going on? What do we do now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pursed her lips grimly, then spoke. “Well, you’re totally fucked if they get their way. So we prevent that. By any means necessary. Ms Ives -- you can arrange a personal day with her father. Right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Caryn nodded. “I can. Militia should facilitate that -- wait, where did she go?” We all looked up and down the hall, but Miss Militia had made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> quick exit. “Anyway, it’ll get done. Then, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> kidding about Parahuman Affairs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol nodded. “That would be a good idea. When you and your dad get back, Sophia, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Should be, anyway, if he doesn’t dawdle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t so much that Simon and his Learjet were </span>
  <em>
    <span>dawdling</span>
  </em>
  <span> as that they had been waylaid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Civilian jet aircraft, designation G-CORE, your registered pilot is wanted for questioning under the Canberra Exclusion Mandate. Please allow us to escort you to a safe landing site.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just a minor delay, that’s all. No big deal. Simon flicked idly through Twitter, firing off a smug retort to a Kanye West tweet and “ironically” RTing the Fugly Bob’s twitter account with the hashtag “harder daddy”. Then, putting on his most disaffected possible air, he thumbed the intercom. “Reg. Do we have any Dragonsuits inbound?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you’re fine. Put ‘er down and we’ll handle it at the airstrip.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye-aye, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled. “Who is it, anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Transponder is telling us it’s a minor hero, Portland, ME Protectorate, name of Vought.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon snorted. “All these bastards naming themselves after minor Cold War aircraft companies and yet not a single ‘Avro’. Americans have no class.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Reg made a grunt by way of affirmation. “They ‘ave no Avro, either, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll give you that.” He chuckled. “Reg, one of these days you’ve got to give me a straight answer. You either were at Canberra or you weren’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One of these days, sir.” The plane headed in for a landing, as dusk began to fall. Local time in Brockton Bay was six-sixteen PM. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A light rain fell, and the sky darkened. Lisa’s glare at her phone, however, was a weather advisory unto itself. She frowned, looking up at Dinah from the couch. “You’ve really fucked us. I hope you’re happy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah folded her arms. “What did I do to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa sighed. “Listen, it’s not you. Except that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. You, existing, it fucked the whole thing up. Now he wants two for the price of one, and he won’t even take a no on Shadow Stalker. So I have to drag your ass even deeper into this mess, and…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah thought through all the possible things Lisa might mean to say. She didn’t much like any of them, but she chose to be kind and patient with the older girl. She seemed like she might benefit from a good influence -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Go on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa picked the most obvious one. “I’m not even sorry. And listen, I know I should be, like -- you’re twelve --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah smiled. “Eleven.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa gave a strangled noise of horrific frustration. “Ten, six, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> care, you’re breaking all the rules just by being involved, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad, and I don’t have any choice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah nodded. She well understood that Lisa did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a choice. “You always have a choice,” she said. But it was already done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Lisa sighed. “I don’t. What do you know about Shadow Stalker? Anything?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah thought for a second. Shadow Stalker was interesting to her, but Lisa didn’t need to know that. “Yeah. She’s a Ward, former vigilante, shadow powers. Can go intangible, move through walls. Some kind of bow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “All good so far. Dinah, you want something to drink? I have juice in the fridge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah pursed her lips and pretended to think about this. “Hmmm…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa’s face contorted in rage, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> screamed. It startled Dinah, even though she’d seen it coming. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking PLAY ACTING!” Her voice was a low growl, and she advanced on Dinah, who was still scared even though this was just...a play. An act. A game.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Dinah, hitting her marks </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa facepalmed. “Yes, you do. You have perfect precognition, which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay. It’s not even precognition, it’s...it’s like you see what’s already happened, but you have to pay </span>
  <em>
    <span>attention</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it, and you don’t even care. You just do what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you don’t even try to test the boundaries of what’s possible for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah raised an eyebrow. “I sort of expected you to figure it out, but that’s...remarkably exact. Thank you. Even I was not aware of some details that you just filled in for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa growled again. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the point. You could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is the point. You could have explained all of that to yourself just by looking for the part where I explain it to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah chose not to point out to Lisa that she had to know something existed, to look for it. Envision a large book, a volume of encyclopedias -- if you were looking for the capital of Delaware you would have to at least know to look under D, for Delaware. It was very much </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Google, and looking under C for Capital didn’t get you anywhere at all. So it was with Liber Dinah. But that didn’t matter to Lisa, because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> true that what Lisa did not know would not hurt her. Which was why she liked to know so many things. So Dinah kept mum. Instead, she said, “what is the point, then? Are you jealous?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa glared. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I knew something was up with Rex. Your power would have let me know exactly what, instantly. He would have survived. We would be the best team there ever was. But no, I didn’t know soon enough, so I have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah wondered who Rex was. So she asked herself. This was a regrettable decision, as she had not intended to feel bad for Lisa this evening. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Instantly? That your stupid power is a hard counter to mine, merely because your existence infuriates me? That my brother died?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Dinah.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa sighed, pulling at her hair. “Fine. Then find me Shadow Stalker. Her exact location and next moves. And make it snappy. Then I won’t have to demean both of us by pretending to drug your fucking juice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah thought about the question Lisa was asking, without asking herself the question. Then she giggled. “Who?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bronson was able to bring the plane in without incident, despite the protestations of the PRT and local air traffic control. Simon was used to being unpopular, on account of his associates -- but he suspected that what was about to take place would finally mark him out as </span>
  <em>
    <span>uniquely</span>
  </em>
  <span> unpopular. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoped Carol and Quinn had everything handled…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Something on your mind?” asked the driver of his private, New Wave-provided “company” car. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He regarded the driver in the rearview mirror, or rather the carefully adjusted slice of her face she let him see. A short-cropped but somehow frizzy and moppish bout of brown hair almost covered one eye. Freckles broke out across her nose like poppies in a field, or shells after a battle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or morbid thoughts during a Simon brand scheme,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Simon thought dourly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, there is, Ms Dallon. You see, there’s someone I’m here to help. And to do that, I have to provide her with an answer to the question: who am I? Or a means of finding it out, at any rate. So, Ms Dallon -- perhaps you can help me. Are we who others say we are? Are we who we want to be? Or are we what we do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panacea fidgeted uneasily in the driver’s seat. She said nothing.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Objects In Mirror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lisa looked at the younger girl, confusion giving way to </span>
  <em>
    <span>cascade -- irrelevance -- extraneous -- data -- interrupt --</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She saw stars, and threw up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I didn’t think it was that disgusting,” Dinah said. “It isn’t like they’re inside each other </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa laughed weakly. “No, sorry. Thinker headache. Ever get one?” She gagged again. “Never mind, sorry I asked, obviously not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Dinah clucked her tongue. “Maybe you should not kidnap people. You don’t seem to have the stomach for it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa sputtered, busy with paper towels on hands and knees. “Little shit.” She chuckled. “I’m coming to that conclusion, though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But she’s at the park tomorrow, with her dad. It is not -- repeat, not -- a situation you will be able to exploit. But it may allow us to get to know her better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “Thanks. You’re remarkably chill with this...why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah smiled. “I have my reasons. Let’s just say I know you’re not kidnapping anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you think I didn’t kidnap you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You did not. My hand was simply forced by the fact that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>would have</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘You can’t fire me, I quit!’ Kid, you’re growing on me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah winked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, in a city park, not far from the Hebert home, Danny Hebert and Sophia Hess sat on a bench, munching hot dogs from a stand, and conversing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I’m not better company. I’ve been alone for too long, I guess?” Danny winced at himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia munched her hot dog quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What I’m saying is, we have time. These things take time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia munched some more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to converse, at any rate. If the damnable girl would just respond to anything he said -- he was a complete stranger, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bending over backwards </span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want from me, Sophia?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him, the question having taken her aback. “Honestly, I don’t...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I ever did. Yesterday was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and none of it was you -- you deserve that much. The silence here isn’t your fault.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then whose is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sbe shook her head. “Can’t say, except that there was an awkward as hell meeting with the Deputy Director.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “Taylor all right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him, then looked away. “Not sure it matters.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it matters. She’s my --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sophia cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Your daughter never existed. Taylor only exists </span>
  <em>
    <span>to me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which is an awful thing to bear. And now you want to see me because...because why, exactly? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not her</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she’s not yours. Her dad was there every day until --” She caught a breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny nodded. “That’s why you’re not going back to your mother.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia snorted. “There are lots of reasons I’m not going back there. But sure, yeah, let’s start with ‘mom there’s a white girl in my head now, so I like nerdy shit, and I have a weird longing to spend time with…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sat upright, realizing she had been leaning into Danny’s shoulder. “Ew.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled. “You no longer fit anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I spent my life hating how I fit, hating </span>
  <em>
    <span>where</span>
  </em>
  <span> I fit, not really liking who I had to be to fit -- and now along comes your maybe-daughter, and --” she sighed. “You don’t know what you got, til it’s gone, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It feels like you’re about to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia had a hundred things she wanted to say to that. All of them required her to feel something, just beyond her grasp, or beyond her will, it made no difference. Half still of those required her to listen to the girl inside her. Instead, she said “shouldn’t I be? I’ve seriously considered Alexandria’s offer, but I’d be in the Wards, and they want to take me apart and decide who is and isn’t me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny nodded. “You feel like you need to protect her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia shook her head. “No, I feel like she’s the only one who understands me, anymore. And that’s...isolating. Makes me piss-angry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny chuckled. “Piss-angry, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking torqued. Janked. Infuriated. Discombobulated. </span>
  <span>You have no idea how it makes me feel.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “You’ve given me a pretty good idea. You know, that’s something we have in common. That’s an easy, simple feeling for both of us. It works, when nothing else does.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah...I can just fade away, choose not to be angry. Escape, evade. Dr Chavez that they used to make me see, right, he says the word is ‘de-escalate’. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but my problems are still there, and she’s with me everywhere I go, and…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t get away from what I’m angry at either. She literally died, but she’s even more with me now than she was, because of that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I used to think that was it. That I’d killed Taylor, somehow, that I had made a delusion of what I remembered. Then the testing started, the big shots took interest, and the facts stopped adding up so simply. Then I met you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He chewed on that. Then he swallowed, and onions and relish followed his consideration. “The more people we have to share them with, the bigger our problems seem to get.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Would be easier, you know. If I had.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. Then he stuck his fingers out, and made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pew pew</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise. “But no. Sent her on an errand, she died without me to even…” He choked up, which was a level of weakness he had not intended to display. “Hold her h</span>
  <em>
    <span>hhh</span>
  </em>
  <span> --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia wrapped her arms around her attempted father’s shoulders as he sobbed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said, collecting himself. “It’s just...she spent her whole life unsatisfied with her potential, with who she was, with...everything. I want better for you than that. You, Sophia, have the anger, the drive, the resentment -- I hope the street sense and the ingenuity that I have, rather than my negative qualities. I don’t simply look at you and see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I see Dan Hebert, wharf rat, age fourteen. It’s not like you must think. I want you and Taylor to resolve your contradictions, even if I never see it happen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “I understand, old man.” She punched him in the arm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Annette didn’t want to be happy. Don’t make the same mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And if that means leaving you behind?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled. “Then it does.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia found herself wordless, breathless, scared. She didn’t want to. This strange, awkward, sad, angry bear of a man -- she could no easier leave him than she could herself. But --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Inside her heart, she faded, bolted, ran until she collapsed. Outside, with her body, she sat quietly and said no more. After a time, behind her eyes, Taylor watched the park and its visitors, hawklike. Her posture changed, becoming insectile. lithe in another way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Those two are watching us,</span>
  <span>” Taylor said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny followed her gaze. The taller girl, blonde, and the younger one (dusty brown) were actually heading their way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They look friendly enough. Company would be nice, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor nodded. Danny looked at his daughter, quietly and contently noticing the changes -- it was good to have company, at this exact moment. Something to keep her from seeing that he could see who the girl before him was, at any time, despite her changing nature and desire to hide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Hey stranger,</span>
  <span>” the girl next to him said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The taller, presumably older girl waved. “Hey. I’m Sarah, what’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny caught a flicker of wariness in his daughter’s eyes. Then he saw her lie. </span>
  <span>“Taylor</span>
  <span>,” he heard her say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sara raised an eyebrow. The younger girl squeezed her hand, and they exchanged a knowing glance. “My kid sister thinks you’re bluffing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lying, actually.” The younger girl pulled a sucker out of her mouth and smiled disarmingly. “My name’s Cassie, and yours is…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor shrugged. “</span>
  <span>You’re all lying about your names, but I’m not. I can tell. I saw ‘Cassie’ pause to make hers up, but I’m Taylor.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sara nodded. “Fine. I’m Lisa. This is Dinah. Do you want to be Taylor?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor didn’t know, really, which was disconcerting and scary. She felt her arms and legs unfold and rearrange themselves, without moving, her posture changing without the location of her body in space changing. The accent put over the vowels of a physical arrangement became distinct, the diacritics simply pointing out a new pronunciation of the same word. “Doesn’t matter,” Sophia said. “You know more than you’re saying. Make it quick.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa, now, regarded her with some alarm. Dinah just looked up at her older friend with an “I told you so” expression.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Lisa said finally. “If you want to leave your...dad? Behind?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nods. “Right on both.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa motioned, and they stepped behind a grove of trees.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa was beginning to want to scream. More than usual, that is. She could not do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> without the little showboat stealing her entire operational tempo.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At fourteen hundred hours local time tomorrow you will be offered a choice. I didn’t see myself explain that choice to you, so I can’t, Sophia. But I suggest that you take what is offered to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia glared down at the girl. Then she looked up at Lisa. “How did you know my name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I...did not. And I should forget it, shouldn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nodded. “She knows my name for Reasons.” The capitals were audible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded back. “Fraid so. We both have, uh, those reasons. And they relate to our motive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia sighed. “I thought they might. You good guys? Too much to hope for, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “Again, afraid so. We are not the worst people, or at least Dinah might not be. I came here to offer you an out...we’re a team of escape and evasion experts, and we could use someone like you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia recognized her opponent, then, and an arm lanced out, grabbing her by the throat. “Tell Grue I said he can suck my cock.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa shook her head, trying to swallow, her Adam’s apple moving under Sophia’s hand. “No. He doesn’t know. Listen, our boss wanted me to recruit you, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t have a choice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then your boss knows I’m a Ward, right? He can’t be that dense.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “He is not a dense person, usually, no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alarm bells rang in Sophia’s head. “</span>
  <span>Is he powered too?</span>
  <span>” Taylor asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “Why, meet anyone strange?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She thought this over. Maybe she shouldn’t tell. “</span>
  <span>PRT Deputy Director. He was rewinding time or something, used it to try to --</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa interrupted her, a strange expression like familiar revulsion masked by a desperate tumble of words. “No, no, I got it, that’s fine, enough information for now, thank you -- so Coil, PRT, PRT, Coil, fuck, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucked --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor grabbed her by the shoulder, not unkindly, and shook her gently. “</span>
  <span>It’s okay. We can figure it out. He tried to take me away from...everyone I care for.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa nodded. “He succeeded, Taylor, with me. We have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah looked rather put off by all of this. “You don’t care about me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet, squirt. Give it time.” Lisa ruffled her hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>An older couple approached them, waving in a seemingly friendly fashion. Taylor dropped into a ready stance, checking her exits, just in case. “Oh hey, Mr and Mrs Langstrom!” Dinah smiled. “These are my dad’s friends, from church. Mr Langstrom, this is my cousin and her girlfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mr Langstrom seemed skeptical. “I didn’t know you had a cousin.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“From out of state,” said Lisa, who did not want to be arrested for kidnapping today. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia was too upset by the suggestion that she might have a sexual orientation to reply. She and Taylor stood silently, watching as requisite small talk was made. Then, when an opening presented itself, she excused herself and went back to Danny, on the bench. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hand gripped something, tightly, inside the pocket of his jacket. “Everything okay?” he said softly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Sophia said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go home,” Danny said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She followed him to the truck, still reeling. It was only once the truck was moving that she realized -- she didn’t know where that was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom talks about you, sometimes,” Amy said, turning the car into the drive-through at Fugly Bob’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll bet she does,” said Simon. “What does she say? #5 with curly fries, by the way, thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh,” Amy crowed. “No one said I had to feed you. I’m feeding </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked positively stricken. “You can’t do that! I’m only in town for a day!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then move here, if our regional burger chain is worth the crime.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s...hm. I’ll have to think about that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, she doesn’t say much. You’re on the board, the board doesn’t do shit, I don’t ask.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon raised a hand. “Correction. The board is in reserve, for eventual resumption of global New Wave operations. There was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a Boston team, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There were supposed to be a lot of things. The board doesn’t do shit. Mom didn’t fuck you in college, so that can’t be it…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon sighed. “More’s the pity.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t ask, thanks. Why are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t spoken to Shadow Stalker recently, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy made a round O of surprise with her mouth. “Word travels fast, I guess. That’s...a thing, but no I haven’t. How is that of interest to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon laughed. “The Case 71 phenomena is just one of the many interesting things I’ve been associated with. It’s...relevant to my long term goals, but I’m unsure how, Would you like to meet her, with me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy thought this over. “I do believe I would.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You could give me more data, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d have to touch her brain. That’s not as easy as you think. I don’t recommend it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon shrugged. “Your call. I think your reluctance to work with brains is about something else, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turned up the radio. This was fortuitous, because of the news report. “The PRT reports that human master Taylor Hebert (believed to be an alias) has overwritten the mind of a local ward, Shadow Stalker. The bodyjacking master is believed to be armed and dangerous, traveling via pickup with an older male by the name of Daniel Hebert. Shadow Stalker’s civilian identity cannot be released, but for security purposes a physical description has been authorized, to follow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Amy said in a hushed, almost frantic tone. “Talk about timing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of which --” Simon indicated a tan pickup truck, in the lane next to them. In the passenger seat sat a black girl matching the radio announcer’s description, and the driver was an older white male, glasses, yep yep --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make me regret this.” Amy braked, drifting into a turn, leaving their car at a T to the pickup, just before the light. She rolled down the power window with a flick of her thumb, and shouted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get in! Leave the truck!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The driver leaned on his horn, then seemed to read her lips, alarm shading over his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on!” Amy shouted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolled down the window. His head leaned out, and he spoke. “Can I help you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Christ.” She tossed Simon her order. “FIne, eat my burger. I gotta explain to these idiots how much trouble they’re in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stepped out of the car, across the rain-spattered pavement, as the sky grew darker.  Danny was beginning to clue in, though, and opened his own door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sirens drowned out their initial attempts at conversation, and red and blue lights began to shed their revolving cast on both cars. Finally, Amy grew tired of trying to make herself heard, and simply pointed at the open door of her vehicle. As a black shimmer, like smoke or a heat mirage, vanished through the closed door on the other side, she nodded to Danny, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> got the big idea, and buckled himself into the front seat, next to Simon. Who was, now, apparently, the wheelman. This left her scrambling, and eventually in the back seat next to Sophia.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. I’m Amy Dallon, you’ve probably heard of me. And we’re fucked. Simon, drive!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The final door slammed shut, and they sped away just as the light turned, leaving Danny’s pickup idling at the intersection.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Foxhole Made Of Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The moment the car (belonging, again, very publicly, to New Wave and to the Dallon family by extension) sped away from the intersection in which the fugitives had left the car described by the BOLO, a lot of things happened at once. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One. An Armsmaster drone hovering a mile in the air over Brockton Bay recorded the transfer from one vehicle to another, creating an independent log of events. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two. BBPD officers in the pay of a mysterious mercenary somewhat stupidly, but predictably, became scapegoats for official mishandling of the events that were to occur between now and 1400 hours the next day, by firing into the empty pickup truck. When they realized that an armed and dangerous Ward (a female child, despite parahuman armed and dangerous designation, one in the care of the federal government of the United States) was not in the cab of the vehicle at all, rather than thanking their household gods for the mercy shown their self-important mistakes, they immediately radioed (on an encrypted frequency, of course, using private equipment) their mysterious boss, to inform him that things were not as expected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Three. They were entirely as expected. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Four. Zero hour. This is how all of these things happened at once. Time broke, a curtain tore. As the rain fell on the pavement, and the evening cooled, and New Wave made the evening news for the first time in a good while, events restarted, in an experimental runtime.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s this...incredible feeling, when you become someone else. When I’m her, and wearing her body, it doesn’t feel quite the same. When Coil did his...whatever it was, it felt like warm butter being spread onto bread. My skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>flowed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I became </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then I became </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then a ghostly girl sat in the back seat of the car where Sophia Hess had been.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I did not know exactly what kind of man Coil was, at this time. Nor did I know the enormity of his dual identity as Calvert. I did know that it was his doing last time this happened. This is why I had kept his identity a secret, aside from my firmly held belief that no one would believe me or care. I had a reputation, doubtlessly, as a fabulist -- why spoil a perception so usefully erroneous?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As long as Calvert lived and kept his freedom, I could find a way to be me, whenever I wanted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, dad,” I said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy fucking shit,” Amy Dallon said. I was pretty sure Panacea wasn’t supposed to talk like that, being such a goody two shoes role model, and all, but I wasn’t going to be picky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daniel Hebert looked at me, and I saw in his eyes the gleam of recognition. For a brief moment, in a world where everything had been taken from me but the will to exist, I saw my dad again. “T-Taylor? </span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hand!” Amy held out hers and made a grabbing motion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I jerked my hand back. “No. No touchy! Not yet, anyway. Calvert is doing his thing, and I don’t know what’ll happen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Calvert?” Amy’s expression was incredulous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, the PRT deputy director.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“His...thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rolled my eyes. “Please. He works for the PRT at a very high rank, you’d be smarter to assume he had powers than that he didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not how that...works,” said Amy, who from the look on her face was beginning to put history and the news together and realize that, Gell-Mann amnesia notwithstanding, it probably worked exactly like that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, alternate timelines, rewinds, some bullshit. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, and he’s doubtless doing something awful, and I just want to hug my dad. Stop the fucking car.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guy who was driving chuckled. “She’s really something, Hebert. You’re a lucky man with good genes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny -- dad -- was taken aback by this, but the car nevertheless stopped at the shoulder of an onramp to the freeway, where we would be obscured by racing traffic. I got out. “Come on, Dad. Hugs. Now, quick.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not mine,” I saw him mouth at Simon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then where did she come from, Danny? Come on. Hug the girl and let’s hit the road.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tried again. “But you didn’t want to touch Pa---Amy. Aren’t you worried something bad will happen?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I tackled him, wrapping my arms around him and snuggling my head close to his chest. “Yes. I am. But I wanted to be with you anyway. See? We’re fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He hugged me back. “I must feel like a shabby imitation of your real --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shushed him. “Let me have this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sirens approached. Simon briefly poked the horn. “Come on. I know you guys need a moment, but they’re coming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy spoke up. “Why no capes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Give that time. New Wave isn’t all that special, if you’ll forgive my saying so. They know once they send capes after you that bridge is burned, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy nodded. “I hate you, Simon. I really hate you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned. “Your mom says that all the time, too. Normally when I’m right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grimaced. Dad and I filed back into the car, and we sped up the freeway. “I’m trying to figure out how I can stop him, given that we have this interaction going on. I don’t know where he is, and if he’s the PRT deputy director then </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s in his office, an ambush is ill-advised…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Amy nodded, listening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon shook his head. “Exfil first. Airfield, north of town. My plane is actually warm right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My dad?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned ferociously, “Kid, bring your whole sleepover club and a pet dog. Just let’s get you out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An idea occurred to me, one I knew Sophia would hate me for later. “I do in fact have a sleepover club, and a pet dog, but I don’t know where to find them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>SImon raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Undersiders. Criminal gang. Escape and evasion specialists. Met two members the other day, good kids. Might be useful. Thinkers. Knew a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon nodded, flicking through his phone. “Undersiders, Undersiders...T, U, U M, U N...Uno’s Pizzeria Chicago...fuck, sorry kid. Never heard of them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That does not surprise me,” I said, although I found his improvisatory nature and clear preparedness quite charming. “I just don’t know how to get in touch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re thinkers. Maybe they’ll find you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nodded. “Oh, Coil -- Calvert’s cape name, apparently, is their boss.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit!” Simon had to focus to keep the car on the road. “Why didn’t you say so? That’s our </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How so?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, he wants you, right? And I suspect that he’s watching us, somehow. Has to know we ditched the truck, since cops are on our tail. That’s why capes aren’t involved, come to think of it. So we let him catch you, and then --” he made the same pantomime gesture Dad had earlier. Dad gripped that something in his jacket pocket, again. I finally knew what it was. And I knew my dad. I did not want to be Coil right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Simon. Not for her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at my dad like he was from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mars</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Have you been paying attention? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad slammed a fist into the armrest. “I know. I know, just --” A growl of frustration. “I want to make it better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at me. “Kid, do you trust these crooks?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shook my head. “I have to try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He nodded. “Where did you meet them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rayburn Park. By the Civil War memorial.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “Rerouting,” the GPS said. We gained twenty miles an hour very quickly, and that wasn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> reason I felt my stomach lurch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>We swung around the ramp, this time headed down into the Boardwalk area, and I could hear helicopters. “Still no capes, why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There are capes,” Simon said. “You’re going to meet them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess,” I said, but it didn’t wash. Something was fucky about the whole thing. “Isn’t it a trap?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Traps are for springing. What are you, a novice?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I swear I made </span>
  <em>
    <span>heart eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Simon, which was super embarrassing. “Dad, we’re keeping him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad chuckled. “Just so long as you’re sure about this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m very sure.” About taking back my soul, about gaining control of my life, I didn’t say. What I did say was, “I know what’s in your pocket. Give it to me, please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad turned around to look at me, alarm on his face. “Taylor, no. Not just no but hell no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Point and shoot? Easy, right? I can convince Lisa not to take it from me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head fiercely. “No you can’t. And that’s not the issue.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Hebert, what kind of father are you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad snarled. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sending her into the jaws of death unarmed is fine, but she can’t have your stupid Airweight because she’s a child? Come the feck on, boyo.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad handed me the gun, holding it by the stainless barrel, the black rubber grip facing me. I took it, closing my fist around it confidently. “Thanks, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know it was an Airweight? You’re welcome, Taylor.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon smiled thinly. “I know everything and I am playing a game you can’t understand. It’s best that you think of me as one step ahead, on the girl’s side, and keep it that way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That made two of us, then, although I was shocked by the way in which he had just established dominance so easily over my dad. My dad </span>
  <em>
    <span>had not</span>
  </em>
  <span> been weak, not at his best -- if anything, this man was weaker than the one I’d left when I entered the locker. That wasn’t what bothered me, though. No. What bothered me was, frankly, the same utilitarian attitude I had with regard to Sophia, right now. Simon clearly felt that way about my dad. Which meant he probably felt that way about Sophia, if he was on </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> side. And if he was on the side of the great cosmic joke being told at my expense, he felt that way about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Bothersome.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I inspected the gun, checked to see if it was loaded. It was. The bullets, going by the embossed writing, were 357 JHPs. Whatever a JHP was, it was good, I knew that much. I put a thumb on the hammer, and experimentally pressed it back. “God damn it, Taylor,” Dad said. “Give me that so I can decock it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I looked at him, surprised. “What, there’s no lever for that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, there isn’t, and it has a hair trigger now. It’s not safe to carry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad. It’s a gun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re not safe to carry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anyway, alea iacta est.” I put the gun into my own coat pocket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure she’s yours?” Simon grinned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up. Just drive.” Okay, that was not good. I didn’t need Dad angry, and I didn’t need a rivalry developing between them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But once I was me again, firmly, we could discuss that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The rest of the ride passed in silence, and we stopped the car, headlights shining toward the statue. “There!” I pointed animatedly, at the blonde girl. Lisa, she called herself. I suspected we’d given each other similar false names, but just as I could never be anyone but a Taylor, she was incapable of being a Sarah. I didn’t know why I thought this. But I did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa waved her arm over her head, broadly, holding a glowstick. Dinah stepped forward, shading her eyes. Then -- whoa, no way. Absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>enormous</span>
  </em>
  <span> dinosaur-like creatures moved out of the gloom, and we were surrounded by darkness. The headlights of the car were no longer visible, and the car itself had stopped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, feck,” Simon said. “No signal, either. What have they got going on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy chose this moment to speak, the fear in her voice audible. “Grue. He has a darkness field. There’s some speculation that it harms electronic transmissions. Which would include your engine computer, sparkplugs, and so on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chemical fires still good?” he asked. She nodded. Good. That meant the gun worked. He met my eyes. “Go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad looked at me. “Taylor, I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I kissed him on the cheek. “Dad, I love you too. Be back soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I got out of the car and closed the door behind me. I walked five paces, and --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A spotlight cut through the gloom, from above. An incredibly high-pitched squeal made me, Dinah and Lisa fall to the ground, covering our ears. Dad and Simon seemed to be fine, though. The dogs whimpered. All the cacophony was like the sound hell must make,. “Undersiders, New Wave and Taylor Hebert. This is Dragon, representing the Protectorate. Surrender and you will not be harmed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A voice at the back of my mind prompted me to tell Dragon I was not Taylor Hebert, regaling me in detail with how fucked I was if I didn’t. I reminded this bullying voice how fucked I was if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Taylor Hebert, god damn the voice and its lies, and I was here to stay.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then I realized. If Dragon took me, I could surrender to Calvert quicker -- no, the gun! The gun would be taken the instant I stepped into the suit, whose outline I could see above us, looming over the full moon like a bat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I looked at Lisa. “What do we do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was sobbing. Between shuddering gasps, she managed to squeak out something about the dog. Right, “get on the dog”. Dog? Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> what that thing was? Okey-dokey then. I got up, grabbing fistfuls of fur that seemed out of place, riding as they did like the plates on a stegosaurus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re fine,” Dinah said. She wasn’t hurting at all, and I briefly wondered why. Then I saw her noise canceling headphones. I gave her a thumbs up. Smart kid. Had she predicted it somehow? She was a thinker, after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had just occurred to me that I didn’t know how Simon knew that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before I could think on that, I realized that if Dinah had headphones, and our darkness field was gone, then -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A ray of some kind </span>
  <em>
    <span>whomped</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the ground behind the dog I was now sitting on, and it started with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoof</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Brutus, home,” Lisa gasped. The dog I was riding took off at a gallop, and...Lisa and Dinah remained behind? Or did they catch up, somehow? Did they have their own dogs? I didn’t have time to think about this in any detail, because we moved quickly, Brutus and I, and I was forced to hang on for dear life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The streets raced by at a blur, and we gradually began to slow, moving into a sort of garage-like enclosure on the side of a large apartment building. “Whoa, doggie. Good doggie,” I said, for all the good it was likely to do me. But once we reached the center of this garage, the dog stopped. He panted, and immediately went to a water bowl. He began to lap greedily at it, and though I envied him, I suspected I knew what waited for me here, and I had business. I dismounted, somewhat nauseated, and took a dizzy second to admire the ghostly blue sheen of my Taylor-flesh. Soon it would look normal again. Soon I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>live</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Soon Sophia would be gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A voice told me that it knew stupid selfish very well, and this really took the cake. I ignored the voice, the way the voice had ignored my screams of terror, my banging on the locker door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>In protestation, it pointed out -- or tried to, that it had </span>
  <em>
    <span>answered them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and come to my rescue. “Everything is a bigger locker than I just got out of,” I muttered, opening the door to what I suspected was a living room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thomas Calvert -- Coil -- stood there waiting for me. He nodded sagely, another ersatz father figure I neither wanted nor needed. I was beginning to hate this parade of frauds and wannabes, Danny excepted. I needed to help myself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he spoke. “So it is. I can help you with that. We can unlock the secret of your powers, and we can give you the freedom you deserve. Shadow Stalker doesn’t need to control you, anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smiled. “The cat is Taylor.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I began to monologue, knowing there was nothing he could do now. I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>survive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He would let me monologue, lest his prize be discouraged from coming willingly. “Well, you know. The cat’s in the box, right? So it’s in the box, and it’s either alive or it’s dead. When you open the box, it turns out to have been one or another.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “I think I see.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I decided. The cat is Taylor.” I pulled the gun, and as it flashed out, he seemed entirely unimpressed -- there was a brief glimmer of surprise, then just a flat sort of acceptance. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I fired one shot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My fist banged on the locker door</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He fell to the ground. The same sort of slick butter-feeling I mentioned earlier happened, but in reverse. It was like a bone being set while you projectile vomit. It hurt, it felt awful, it felt wrong. Reality </span>
  <em>
    <span>shifted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he stood back up in reverse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No one was coming to get me out, I screamed and screamed, but --</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia looked down at her hand. Rather than blue, it was the usual chocolate brown it had always been. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Taylor, you stupid git.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you! I was so close! What happened?!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thomas Calvert cracked his knuckles, looking at Sophia. “Is that out of your system, then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pet</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked around. “This is the Undersiders’ hideout.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “You have taken your first steps into a wider world. And only I can get you out of this. Let’s think this through, for a second.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia smirked. “Go on, I’m listening.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your father, Amy and Simon are all across town right now, in BBPD custody, where you led them on this mad quest to get to me. Excellent thinking, of course, but you didn’t understand the power interaction at play. That’s fine. You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>time</span>
  </em>
  <span> to learn. Lisa and Dinah, as well as Grue -- not that you care -- are in Dragon’s personal custody. She answers only to myself, the lawful authority who obtained her services. There is no higher authority to appeal to on that matter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia took a second to put the pieces together. “You split timelines. But Tayor and I are the same in either timeline, somehow. We persist despite the changes. So the changes we made, they stay, rippling out from us. As long as we’re working in synergy, intentionally or not, you get the best of both worlds.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “You catch on quickly. You’ll make an excellent student. Alexandria can be persuaded to not separate you from your father, and we can continue with all our endeavors uninterrupted. I’ll even get rid of Grue.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia thought it over. Then she said, simply, “Director Calvert. This is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Undersiders’ base</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “I don’t understand the significance of that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly.” She emptied the gun into Calvert’s head, and he did not get up again. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. What Doesn't Kill You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her ears rang. On the wall behind Calvert, there were three holes. She’d missed, with nearly all of the bullets in the gun. But she’d...she’d…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She threw up. </span>
  <b>Taylor, why?</b>
  <span> She found herself sobbing, imagined herself looking down on herself from a distance. Tried to imagine which girl she saw. Which girl was looking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I thought we could live forever.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turned the gun over in her hand, looking at it. Out of bullets, and she had no idea where to get more. A small mercy. </span>
  <b>We my ass. You know what you did. And I thought…</b>
  <span> she sighed audibly. </span>
  <b>I thought we were working together. You know what? I thought we were each other.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small, smug smirk. Infuriating, like a pebble in the shoe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I did too. Then I saw what it was like, to have been merely myself again. And I...listen, you’ve never undone yourself. You can’t say you’d do different.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The voice, mocking and driven as it was, had a point. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>that small thing. </span>
  <b>Well, look at him now. That was your golden ticket. You wanted him alive, then -- what happened?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She considered that perhaps the voice was weighing whether or not to lie to her. How would she know? Their memories, now, if not before, seemed separate. As if they had merged a book, and now kept separate second volumes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>First, I have a name. Secondly, I thought, perhaps, that having made his decision, if he were to be stopped from ever undoing it, it would remain done.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grimaced. </span>
  <b>That worked so well. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frantic anger, a bitter tang of self-blame.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Well, you’re stupid. You’re just </b>
  <b>
    <em>so </em>
  </b>
  <b>fucking stupid, and I covered for you because...when I changed back...well, you saw what he did to Caryn.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You did good. You did right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Don’t fucking --</b>
  <span> her anger flared in a way she was actually scared of. </span>
  <b>Don’t suddenly </b>
  <b>
    <em>praise</em>
  </b>
  <b> me the moment I </b>
  <b>
    <em>kill </em>
  </b>
  <b>for you.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What can I say? I want you to protect us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I don’t trust you. There’s no more bullets in this thing. Be grateful.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can see that. I can hear what you’re thinking. I can --</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her arm, liquid, sleepy, beyond her control, a swirling in her stomach. The gun, clicking against her temple, empty. Then being thrown to the floor with a clatter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can do a lot. Don’t ever think that you are the master of my fate, the captain of my soul. Don’t you </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>dare</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia did the only thing she could. She stopped talking, she took a second to compose herself, she took out her phone, hands trembling. Her fingers hesitated, and she dialed a number. Later, she remembered forming a specific intention when dialing this number, taking care to press the buttons in the right order. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> she did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The phone rang twice. The caller picked up. Before they could speak, she blurted out -- “hello this is Sophia Hess or Shadow Stalker I’d like to turn myself in for the murder of PRT Deputy Director Thomas Calvert thank you”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause. “Oh, for feck’s sake,” Simon said. “Where are you, girlie?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sobbed, the dam breaking, her shoulders shaking. “I don’t know. The Undersiders’ base, I guess. Let me get you an address. I tried to call the PRT but I guess Taylor didn’t…” she screamed, now. “She didn’t let me! I can’t trust her! I want to talk to my dad, please…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon nodded. “He’s right here. It is imperative that you give him that address. Dan?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She waited, holding her breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” He laughed, roughly. “Silly question, sorry. I heard what you said to Simon. Stay right where you are. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said...you said...protect me from her.” Her breath was ragged, she was panicking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And from everything and everyone else.” A pause. “Amy wants to know if you need a medic.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had to doublecheck. “No, I think I’m all right. He didn’t get a shot off.” She giggled, now, giddy as the stress broke like glass. “Thing kicks like a fucking mule.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did warn you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She let that sit for a moment. “Okay, I found an old bill. Some kind of...ew, World of Warcraft for a...no, I can’t give you the name. A boy who lives here. I didn’t even know they sent paper bills for that.” She gave the address.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On our way. Simon, how long?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A muffled voice. “Okay, sit tight. Not long. There’s a gas station across the street. Can you be there? Keep the gun out of sight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “Thanks, sir. You don’t have to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to. We’re all in this together.” A pause, awkward laughter. “Amy says to tell you her mom is ‘gonna be so pissed’. That’s a quote.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled. Usually, on TV, the sirens were coming by now. Why weren’t they coming? Didn’t they </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I care.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Shut the fuck up, Taylor.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. Now, if you love yourself, run. We have to be at the gas station.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia found herself dragging her feet. But still she ran.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice in her helmet comms was tense, frustrated. As if she’d been working too long, growing too tired of a lack of result. “I can’t predict someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t exist</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Rebecca.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, passing a jumbo jet with a friendly wave. “I know. Now. Calvert. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s on-path?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A murmur of assent. “We did have a favor left. But this is what’s happening.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Odd.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh. “I’m aware. I suppose with all going on, I didn’t optimize for milking that out of him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca banked and headed into an approach course. “It can’t be helped.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The roof of the PRT building was empty, usually. Tonight was no exception -- not even a solitary smoker remained. She left a dent -- always in the same spot -- gritting her teeth out of old habits, against an impact she no longer felt. Then, the access door, the small elevator -- the office, a sharp rap --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come,” Emily Piggot said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the door. “Hello, Director. I trust my arrival is not unexpected.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What took you so long? I can’t raise Calvert, he’s got Dragon out on some contract I know nothing about -- what’s going on in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my city</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily raised an eyebrow, crossly. “Come again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going on in your city.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily sighed. “The girl.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca smiled, too smugly for the other woman’s comfort. “Quite.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is Shadow Stalker more of a pain now than she was before? How is that possible?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca sat, crossing her legs and folding her arms. “She’s not, really. It’s the...other one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily stared daggers. “There is no other one. She has DID.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca gave another half-smile. “Sure.” She uncrossed her legs. “So, anyway. Why do my people know he’s dead and yours don’t?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Calvert?” Emily’s voice betrayed just the right amount of shock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Emily, please. You didn’t know he was dead. No one’s begrudging you for being </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleased</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- that’s fine -- but no one thinks you’re a suspect. You’re not smart enough to kill him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think the implication that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>would want to</span>
  </em>
  <span> is warranted.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca smirked. “No one said it was.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily found herself speechless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Be that as it may. Effective immediately I am assuming command of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. Will I be finding any trouble with your staff?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emily shook her head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. We have a shadow to catch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol read the text over several times, shaking her head in disbelief. “You what?” She cursed, softer, then spoke aloud, to herself more than to the wayward girl. “Never mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She texted back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have Simon clean it up. It’s his mess. I’ll tap Quinn for legal. Don’t think they’ll want </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>us</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> anywhere near it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the fact that Amy </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> very near to it presented her with several advantages. She wasn’t ready to go that far, not yet. But the option was there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another furious text to Quinn. Slurping greedily at a double shot venti. Needed fuel. A body couldn’t do this much legal wrangling on an empty stomach, but if it had to -- caffeine. And fury. She had signed on to an innocent victim of PRTate custodial shenanigans, not...whatever Amy hadn’t said. Amy was aware that a family rule -- ironclad, at that -- was “if ever guilty, don’t admit it in writing”, for sure. But she was also aware that another, higher rule was “don’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> crimes for god’s sake you little shit you’re just like your --” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Empathy. For the girl. For the </span>
  <em>
    <span>task</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Same thing, at this point. Even if this was the worst thing she’d ever had to clean up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel walked back into the base, hoping Lisa had been careful with her dogs. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lisa to borrow them. Or rather, to be allowed to. But Lisa had asked Dinah, and Dinah had asked Rachel, and Rachel didn’t say no to innocent kids, as a rule, and --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, someone was going to manipulate her. It might as well be the innocent kid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She whistled. “Brutus! Judas! Angelica!” Usually she’d have been mobbed by now. Licked, tackled, she’d have beings who were </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad to see her</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- what was wrong?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brutus was panting, in the garage. She could hear him, alternating that with lapping away at his bowl. She poked her head in, made sure that he was all right. Good. Where was Judas? Or Angelica? Had Lisa and Dinah --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An unwelcome thought, despite the inconvenience the older girl presented. No matter. Someone had been here, doors were open. It didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> right. Then, naturally, she rounded the corner into the living room. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>den</span>
  </em>
  <span>, rather. And she saw it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Him? He was dead, rich, clearly. A suit, expensive-looking. Rachel knew her judgment wasn’t Lisa’s, but this guy was a VIP. And he was dead. Bleeding </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> over. She looked up, scanned the room. Three holes in the wall, so a bad shot. Who?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t smart. Why was it up to her? “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she snarled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A presence over her shoulder startled her, causing an audible yelp. “I’d like to know myself. Where’s Tattletale the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time</span>
  </em>
  <span> you really need her?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rachel had to laugh at that. “Get your brother, now.” The snarl was unlike anything Aisha had ever heard, and she could do little but obey.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia Hess had learned many things in her short life. One was how to remain inconspicuous in public, in a small crowd of four or five convenience store customers. Another was that murder was the sort of thing that got you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked for life</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A third was that hearing voices was very bad. She had never really learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> to unlearn things, which things to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> unlearn, or which order to learn them in. So she did not worry about these things, instead taking comfort in the fourth. Which was that she preferred, vastly, Pepsi to Coke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ew</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I’m sorry? Just, fucking, like, make me get a Coke if it matters so much.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to force you to do anything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>sent</span>
  </em>
  <span>, angrily, like pushing, a memory of realizing that her body had just been used to kill someone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You could have let him live.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I like being alive, myself.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then stop saying I made you do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Taylor had a point. She hated how Taylor had points, and all she had was a body and skills and access. It was very one-sided.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That doesn’t seem very true. You have no idea what it’s like being Sophia Hess all day, like, wow, this is...limiting. It’s awful. No wonder you act out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You were just stringing me along.</b>
  <span> Why didn’t she just grab the Coke and be done with it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wan smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. I thought we’d be very good friends, someday, and begrudging allies for now. Then </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>he</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> showed me what it was like to be me, and I hugged my dad, and…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I did not kill for you. I would not.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia understood. She hated it, but she understood. </span>
  <b>You have trouble controlling your actions. So you control mine instead.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Exactly. That’s an interesting observation. Thank you for that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I am not your refuge from a shitty hand you’ve been dealt. Don’t make me bear the responsibility of our actions.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Our?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia cursed under her breath. Then she pulled a Dr Pepper off the shelf.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That will do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I’m glad you approve</b>
  <span>. Simon’s car had pulled up outside. Realizing no one was really paying attention, she phased and ran toward the car, purloined soda in hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny looked at her, as she clambered into the back. “Tell me what happened, exactly. Don’t leave anything out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She did. Simon gave a low whistle, the car now safely on the freeway. “You did good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I...didn’t. That’s what Taylor said, though. I only wanted to protect her, but she’s a giant manipulative piece of shit…” She trailed off, drinking the Dr Pepper, vague memories of being blue and transparent dancing like fires at the edges of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. I knew I liked her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny glared at Simon. “Anyway, Simon is such a big fan of this sudden development that everyone agrees he ought to be responsible. So. You’re leaving the country, on his plane.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? You’re just getting rid of me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny winced. “No. Damn it. I can’t go, I’ll be more useful here. Amy, you and Simon are going to lay low. Mrs Dallon thinks she’ll be able to run a better legal defense if you’re a fugitive, accompanied by an adult you’ve never met before. Follow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon barked a laugh. “Classic Carol. God damn it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you object, after what you’ve put her through,” Danny said coldly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, why would I?” Simon grinned. “I’m a great fall guy, because I enjoy it so much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Better you than me,” Danny said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There you go. We’ll be fine, I promise, Dan. I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>take care of her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t think I won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s my role in all this?” Amy inquired sourly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanted hands on time with the pretty girl. You’re getting it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ew,” Amy and Sophia and Taylor said in unison.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I get paid?” Amy added.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. There are...bonuses if you go above and beyond and return us useful information about what’s going on...above the neck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy narrowed her eyes. “Does mom know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon laughed. “Does your mother </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy shook her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, then, you know she doesn’t. And I did tell her, so whose fault is that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy nodded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you have a rule. But we need things to go a certain way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny sighed. “Why should I let you leave with her?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at him, and quite calmly, said, “It’s your gun, Dan.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia looked at Danny’s eyes in the rear view mirror, and she began to wonder, which of the two men was more dangerous to be around?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. May Look At A King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eighty miles an hour, now. Still in the same vehicle they’d been driving at the outset, which was a subject of heated debate between the adults in the front seat. Would switching cars do any good? Were they already tagged by some other means? Heat signatures, perhaps a tracking device -- Simon muttered darkly about something called a “Path to Victory” and lamented, actually, that they were clearly on one, which made </span>
  <em>
    <span>no sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Sophia until Simon explained that if they weren’t, they’d have already been caught.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Victory. Getting away was victory, apparently. The adults slowed the car to a leisurely forty, and Sophia saw the city lights out the window, now misted with rainy fog. “D-dad. Got any more ammo for this thing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny pantomimed uproarious laughter. “Not a chance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I gave you a gun and you immediately killed someone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They deserved it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides, it was Taylor’s idea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny clicked his tongue. “That’s an academic distinction and one I’m inclined to distrust.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panacea -- or Amy, she still wasn’t sure which was appropriate -- chimed in. “Sophia Hess, offloading blame? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never seen that before</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Sophia said. “I blacked out, she killed him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then you realized I hadn’t killed him and --</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Shut it. I fixed your mistake, is all I did. You made the choice.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And you ratified it, you coward.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Nobody calls me a coward.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Except you, apparently. Hi, I’m you. Suck it up and deal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia growled. “She’s being annoying again. Anyway, she killed him. It wasn’t me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon chuckled. “Temporary insanity isn’t really a good defense for murder. So it’s good to see you’re trying to cement it as a regular feature.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you too. Fuck everyone, all right. I just killed someone, I’d like less judgment and less jokes at my expense and a fucking hug.” She huffed angrily. “Ammo would make me feel safer, too. I dumped the mag.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She realized her mistake, then, but it hadn’t been a mistake --  it had felt natural and true to say, but the truth was its own monster, a bringer of ends -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, Taylor did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it finally dawned on her. Sophia Hess was dying. Or, she was being taken over. These were not distinct. She could not continue to blame Taylor and maintain her own agency -- she could not continue to allow Taylor to </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist</span>
  </em>
  <span>, separate and distinct in identity from herself, and maintain control over her own mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><span>Well,</span></em> <em><span>I'm drowning in </span></em><b><em>you</em></b><em><span>. How do you think I feel? </span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The question struck her as rhetorical, in the same way that the recoil from the pistol had. The shock didn't register, because the impact had already taken place — immensity as afterthought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She remembered a brief lecture on trauma, given during week one orientation by that Yamada lady. "Trauma is reacting to things that aren't happening anymore. So a lot of people who are traumatized, they seem like they're always reacting to things." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was always reacting to Taylor. Taylor was always reacting to her. They were each reacting to things that had happened to their old, separate selves, too. Every new reaction piled on new big events to react to, new pains, new angers, new fears. There seemed no end to any of it, maybe not ever. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>We're going to die. It's not even your fault. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I think someone will survive. I wouldn't be so worried about it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Good old Taylor. Passive but furious, forever. It was clear to Sophia — she was not the first person Taylor had ever been trapped in. She felt the jaws of life closing around them both -- a new mind, an active synthesis --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, you see the merits of working together.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She only saw the necessity, feared the alternative --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny broke the reverie. "You're safe here. As safe as we can make you. I —" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon cut him off, none too harshly. "The girl just killed a man. She's never going to be safe again. Don't ask how I know. Then there's the issue of her wanted status, the fact that not everyone looking for her are good guys. Your girl's in danger, Dan. You say you love her but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fecking</span>
  </em>
  <span> lie to her. Stop it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her. It took her a second to place the last person who had looked at her this way, the way adults looked at each other. And it was two people, actually. Caryn and Carol. What did she contain, that those two had seen in her an equal? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Who am I keeping you safe from?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She gestured weakly at the car, the passenger, the road, the city lights, the thrum of helicopter blades overhead. "All," she breathed. "Every."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. "You have my word. There are things I can do that Danny here can't. If this girl inside you is bothering you, you tell me, all right? Me. And I'll make her disappear. Understand me?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I do not like that man. He's manipulative and sleazy and too nice by half. And, you know, he wants to kill me. Everyone wants to kill me and manipulate you, why is that? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Everyone?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor had no response to that. But Sophia had dealt with this kind of person before, and she smiled at Simon quite winningly and said, "Taylor didn't much like that. She'll be all right, I think, and so will I. But thank you for the offer." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy rolled her eyes. "Simon, serious question. Do you fuck everything up intentionally or does it just kinda happen?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pouted. "I don't appreciate your implication, miss." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I appreciate the sight of your foot in your mouth. I get that you want to go Doctor Frankenstein on the weird Case 70-something, but if you want my help, you'll acknowledge that I'm also the subject of one of your human experiments. Or I would be, anyway, if I did that. Do you want to tell the IRB you're offering noted minor Panacea truckloads of money to see if she can do brains? Which I can't, obviously, but I can always use cash."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. "In my line of work, you have extreme measures that you know are extreme, that you hope you'll never have to use. But you keep them anyway. I thought that if Sophia needed it —" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She wanted it, in her darkest heart. "I don't," she said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That's that, then. See? Easy. Let people make their own choices, Amy. It's easier." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"For you to say," she bit back hotly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"In any case," Simon said, "you also want to consider that we are, quite plainly, being allowed to escape. You didn't kill someone who didn't need killing, no matter what else. Or at least that's what the people who run this town have decided. Or if you prefer, you're of primary interest compared to that person. Calvert, you said?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nodded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Right. I've heard things, let's just say that. It's institutional incompetence, they'll say, or perhaps he got handsy with the wrong person. Or, you know, the Undersiders' base, where it happened." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia shut her eyes very hard and gritted her teeth. "Would you fucking stop talking about that? You're doing that thing where smart white boys spiral around the point for hours to look smarter. Get to it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned. "See, Dan? She's sharp as tacks. All right, so, listen. Worst case scenario, Sophia, we can…reverse…the thing that's of interest to them about you. You can go back to the way your life was before that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She drew in a breath. She blinked. Finally, she said –</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Her </span>
  <em>
    <span>name </span>
  </em>
  <span>is Taylor. You'd be no better than me." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He would actually be worse. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I don't know if you're implying that you want credit for killing Coil, or if you mean he'd be worse than us. But thanks? </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anytime. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at her again, grown up to grown up. "You care for her, don't you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy grinned. "Hey, I care for the people who rent space in my head too. It's a thing and it is totally valid." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny coughed. "You'll be wanting me to not know where the plane is."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon nodded. "Right-o. Not the worst change of topic I've ever seen, Dan. Where do you want to get off?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Honestly? About six hours ago." Danny chuckled nervously. "I have some shopping to do. So up here is good."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They turned off the ramp, and two police cruisers broke away from behind them, about two cars back, speeding off with sirens blaring. Simon chuckled, pulling into the floodlit parking lot of an enormous big box store, and the car stopped. "See? I told you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Danny nodded. Then he turned, swinging his legs out of the car. He seemed to hesitate, then turned to Sophia. “Later, kiddo. Be strong, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled. Complication after complication welled up inside her, confusing her and making her feel small. Then they began to run down the bridge of her nose. She knew only that she could not miss this opportunity. “Goodbye, dad,” Daniel Hebert’s daughter said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, whether by divine grace or a terrible curse she could not tell, the ride to the airport passed in relative peace. There was foreboding as she came aboard the airplane, a sleek little thing with large engines. The carpet beneath her feet felt expensive. The walls were spotless, shiny in places and white in others, and both in most. It was intimidating, but not in the way that cells intimidate. In the way that open doors do. Here, there were dangers. Here, there were chances.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have you meet Reg later,” Simon said. “He’s my pilot and right hand man. For now, get yourself a snack out of the minifridge there. Dinner comes later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sophia gawked, having not realized that the wood panel flush with the cabin wall was, in fact, a minifridge or even a door at all. She opened it and got a cup of yogurt for herself. “Thank you,” she said softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy snorted. “He’s like this. Ignore him. The cook on this thing is crap -- just get a burger. Safer that way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked hurt. “And after all I do for you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grinned. “Yes, Simon. After all you do for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He held up his hands. “Okay, fair.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia was no longer concerned with their banter, though. She was lost in thought. Taylor had truly taken control, and done a selfish thing that endangered them both. It was extremely worrying, and not for the first time, she felt as violated by the other girl as she surely did by Sophia herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor could not be permitted to exist. But if she found herself in a life or death struggle with Sophia, she would probably win, honestly. Taylor was just that kind of person, she felt. Determined in ways that Sophia couldn’t be. Cruel in ways that Sophia had abrogated from herself as dishonorable, in a logic she had yet to fully verbalize. There seemed to be a lot of Emma in her, this anger at the violation intimacy was, this calculated </span>
  <em>
    <span>use</span>
  </em>
  <span> of every feeling. It was scary to contemplate what such a person could be, without a more immediate anger and violence, an impulsiveness, a…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sophia breathed sharply. A fear. It was fear of her own predatory instincts that kept them below the level of consciousness. She had, through cruelty to Taylor, handed the other girl a tool she could use better than Sophia could. She had made an enemy of the girl by this cruelty, and yet she had not been repaid with equal measure. They were in this together, but only together could they decide what “this” was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>We’re scary.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. It’s quite something just trying to stay afloat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That also was a consideration. To move forward -- Sophia would decrease, Taylor would increase. To move backward -- Taylor would increase, Sophia would decrease. Or perhaps the other way around -- the point being, Sophia knew what had happened was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her fault</span>
  </em>
  <span> and yet she did not deserve to die. Nor did she intend to kill Taylor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no way to proceed that admitted both of them as entities with their own interests and goals separate from the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She shivered, looking out the window at the black and placid sea below. She did not know where they were going, only that they were swept along by forces greater than themselves, and that each of them thought of the other as such a force. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This could not continue. And yet, it did continue. This kind of philosophical, strategic thinking, this deep analysis, was very much a Taylor thing. It was not of her, nor was it something she would have learned of her own free will.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We could call ourselves Maggie, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taylor said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>After the books.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia chuckled. </span>
  <b>I saw the movies. I don’t like them.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor seemed to think, growing distant, then flitting toward her again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Names are just a way to make this process easier for both of us, you know. We don’t have to change our names at all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia watched as the moon rose. </span>
  <b>Do you hate me?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A nod. </span>
  <em>
    <span>As much as you hate yourself, and no more. You give me permission, you know. You set limits. You could end me, but you don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I ended you. I need to change. I have to do better.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Could you just, like, not kill anyone for a bit? It makes things a lot easier when I’m not killing people I don’t want to kill.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can try.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A sly smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, you know. He was just, so…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She knew what Taylor meant, and felt it deeply too. He had tried to separate them, violate their intentional effort to act as a new person. This had felt worse than any violation in recent memory, and now she knew why. She was finding words for things she was pretty sure nobody had ever felt before, and doing so very quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were becoming new, becoming one person. She knew what the brain scans would say. The cat was alive, the cat was dead. The cat was Taylor. The cat was Sophia. The cat was out of the bag. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cat would persist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A thousand miles away, somewhere in Wyoming, white globes assembled themselves sinuously, amid the wreckage of a long-abandoned missile silo. They stood, the shape of a man forming, over the bodies of an Eastern European couple in power armor. Next to the assembled man, a striped shadow stood naked, munching nonchalantly on a heart. On its shoulder, a small girl watched keenly as the manshape tapped with three fingers on a keyboard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seconds passed, data scrolled by. The primary target’s location was still unknown, but his computer feeds were rich with information about his own interests, his targets, his obsessions, his prey. A string of code flashed on the screen, a different color from the rest. The globes seemed to vibrate with a dark joy, and a finger jabbed out as if to say “There!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>The girl giggled. “Holy cats.” She tapped her ear. “Uncle Jack, you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see this.”</span>
</p>
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